Chuck vs the Angel of Death
by Notorious JMG
Summary: Chuck's new girlfriend has Sarah Walker paralyzed with jealousy. But when his girlfriend is kidnapped, who does Chuck turn to to get her back? Character crossover with "Life".
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**4:02 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time  
Sunday, August 31****st****, 2008  
Los Angeles, California**

Sarah Walker saw red.

Two months ago, Chuck Bartowski had been informed in no uncertain terms that he was going on a cruise with Ellie, Devin, and Sarah. Sarah had been a little unsure at first – her cover relationship with Chuck was on somewhat shaky ground, in no small part due to the fact that the real relationship that they were trying to have had been an utter disaster.

Damn the CIA for making them have to sneak around all the time anyway.

Six weeks and four days ago, Chuck and Sarah had decided to put both relationships – the cover one and the real one – on hold, for both their benefit. They needed time to adjust, to process. Sarah did manage to talk Chuck into break-up sex, but he jokingly warned her that that would be the last she'd be getting from him for a while.

Six weeks and two days ago, Chuck had come down with mononucleosis. He was, needless to say, less than pleased by this development. Sarah wasn't exactly thrilled herself. However, she managed to stay symptom-free for a while, and thought she was out of the woods.

Twenty-four days ago, Sarah had woken up and found herself completely drained of energy. Upon arriving at the hospital, she had been diagnosed with mono herself. Needless to say, the doctor had said there was absolutely no way that she would be leaving on a cruise in two days.

The powers that be found themselves in a sudden jam. With Sarah not able to go with Chuck, there was absolutely no way to get Casey onboard in an inconspicious manner. And so arrangements had been made for a Secret Service agent who none of Team Chuck had ever met to be placed in the crew in order to keep an eye on Chuck.

Twenty-two days ago, Chuck, Ellie, and Devin had boarded an Alaska Airlines flight to Anchorage, Alaska, where they would board the MV _Sapphire Princess_ and spend twenty days cruising around Alaska. Sarah had actually found herself rather upset that she couldn't go – but she wrote the emotionalism off to being sick.

Two days ago, John Casey had gotten a phone call that both amused and bothered him. He did not tell Sarah about the phone call, simply because he didn't think it would be a good idea.

Ninety minutes ago, Casey had been preparing to leave for LAX to pick up Chuck, Ellie, and Devin, when Sarah intercepted him coming out of his apartment. "I want to go with you," she told him.

"Uh, I don't think that's necessarily such a good idea," Casey replied uneasily.

"Why the hell not?!"

"Well, um, no reason, really…"

And so Casey had reluctantly allowed Sarah to come along, swearing that whatever happened, he could not be held responsible.

Sixteen minutes ago, the status monitors had changed to show that Alaska Airlines flight 466 had arrived at the gate. Sarah had felt a slight thrill of anticipation. Even though they had been broken up for nearly a month and a half, they had done their absolute best to keep their friendship intact, and she did, in fact, miss him.

One minute ago, John Casey's face had gone red, and then white. He got a look on his face that could be best described as "oh shit."

Thirty seconds ago, Ellie Bartowski and Devin Woodcomb had walked through the exits.

Twelve seconds ago, Chuck Bartowski had walked through the exits – holding the hand of a short, cute, annoyingly perky looking blonde girl.

Two seconds ago, Chuck had kissed her.

And Sarah Walker saw red.


	2. Visions of My Summer

Up until August 12th, Chuck Bartowski's summer hadn't been exactly super. If the best summer ever could be summed up in the Ataris' _In This Diary_, and the worst summer ever was Blue October's _Hate Me_, then he supposed his summer probably fell somewhere around _Hurt_ by Nine Inch Nails, preferably the version sung by "Sad Kermit".

Yeah, Chuck's summer had kind of blown.

Things had been okay for a while. Back on St. Patrick's Day, Sarah had gotten good and drunk and admitted the whole range of her feelings for him. That was followed the next morning by her repeating that admission while sober.

Chuck had, at the time, been ecstatic. After six months of waiting, six months of keeping his feelings to himself because he knew how miserable it would make Sarah for them to be out in the open, he didn't have to hide how he felt about her any longer.

Everybody noticed the change almost immediately. They noticed that Chuck and Sarah were both much happier, all the time.

But less than three months in, things had started to fall apart. A particularly demanding set of missions involving Fulcrum and the Mexican government had taken a serious toll on both Chuck and Sarah. She found herself constantly second-guessing decisions based on Chuck's safety, and he found himself constantly horrified at the danger she put herself in.

On one assignment toward the end of June, she had a panic attack when Chuck exited the car – even though it turned out to be for the best, as the car was hit with an anti-tank missile seconds later. That panic attack made her freeze, and it was only Chuck tackling her that kept her from getting shot – and the fusillade of bullets had come close enough that he would have a number of very shallow creases on his behind for the rest of his life.

Sarah blamed herself, which made Chuck mad. He was insistent that she couldn't have predicted any of that series of events, but that didn't change her mind at all. When he began to find himself lacking energy during the day, his tiredness translated to sullenness, which led to some pretty nasty arguments. The only thing that kept their relationship from completely disintegrating at that point was that they were both fans of the mind-blowing make-up sex.

But in the middle of July, it reached a head. Chuck decided he couldn't do it any more. He couldn't go through this cycle of "fight 'n' fuck", as he called it. And so, they agreed to take a break – which made things potentially awkward, since they had both already been booked on a cruise with Devin and Ellie.

Two days after they broke up, Chuck fell asleep while at the Nerd Herd desk. He managed to slide out of his chair, and smacked his head on the desk in a pretty nasty fashion. Big Mike had insisted that Chuck go to the hospital.

And so Chuck had gone. Three hours and a blood test later, he was told that the reason he'd been consistently exhausted for the last few weeks was that he had infectious mononucleosis – mono. "So, this would be responsible for me being tired and cranky all the time?" he had asked the doctor.

"Yeah," the doctor said with a shrug. "Otherwise, you're fine."

Chuck didn't know whether or not to go to Sarah and tell her about this. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew that he HAD to tell her that he had it, because there was a good chance she would have it as well.

However, what he wasn't sure whether or not to talk to her about was the fact that his behavior the last month hadn't been normal. Were it not for the mono, he wouldn't have been exhausted and sullen, and maybe they wouldn't have gotten into the cycle of fighting.

But the fact of the matter was, they had. And it was going to take a lot more than just an admission of mono to repair that. So Chuck decided to let that go by the wayside.

Sarah had, luckily, remained symptom free after Chuck told her about the fact that he had mono. And so, they were both still going to go on the cruise, because they had done their best to keep their friendship intact, and they thought that this might actually help heal some wounds – being as far from Fulcrum and Intersect-inspired missions as they could get.

As luck would have it, though, two days before they were scheduled to leave, Sarah had developed a full-blown case of mono. In addition to really upsetting her, the fact that she now could not go on the cruise had thrown the government into panic mode. Without Sarah on the ship, Chuck would not have a minder of any sort. They couldn't very well put Casey on the boat – that would just look suspicious.

So, they had put a Secret Service agent on the crew of the cruise ship. Chuck didn't know who it was, just that somebody on the crew would be keeping an eye on him.

When Chuck, Ellie, and Devin had left for the airport, Sarah had come by the apartment to see them off. She had embraced Chuck for a little longer than she had in quite a while. He was surprised to see tears in her eyes when she pulled back.

"I'm only gone for three weeks," he said. "It's not like I'm going into a bunker or something."

Sarah had smiled in spite of herself. "I know," she replied. "But I was looking forward to spending some time with you, without having to worry about – well, anything."

Chuck had smiled as well, and nodded. "I'm sure we'll have some time when we get back."

On August 12th, though, everything changed.

As Chuck lay on a deck chair, sunning himself under the Arctic sun, a five-foot-four-inch, blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of WAY too much energy managed to trip over his deck chair, sending them both sprawling to the deck. Chuck was irritated at first, but as he looked over at the culprit, she gave him the biggest smile he had seen in a long time, and he almost felt like the anger melted off of him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, starting to get up.

"No, don't even worry about it," Chuck replied, bounding to his feet, and reaching down a hand to help her up.

"Thanks," she said, standing to her feet. "My name's Becky."

"I'm Chuck," he replied. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

She raised an eyebrow. "Make my acquaintance?"

Chuck sighed and looked downward. "Yeah, I meant nice to meet you. It's just that my brain is a little weird and starts working in odd ways when I find myself standing in front of a really pretty girl in a bikini-"

He stopped talking and laughed. "You know what?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm just gonna, um, jump over the rail now, if you don't mind."

Becky laughed too, and her smile got a little bigger. "You really think I'm pretty?"

Chuck nodded. "I do," he said. "I can think of worse people to have tripped over me. Like-"

He pointed at a hairy guy on another deck chair with a gold chain laid across his chest. "Like Señor Wookie over there."

Becky followed where he was pointing, and laughed. "Yeah, he probably would've been worse," she replied.

"Definitely not as pretty," Chuck added.

She shook her head. "You just think you're so slick, don't you?"

Chuck grimaced. "I really don't."

"That's okay," Becky replied. "I like hearing it."

Chuck nodded, a smile replacing his grimace. "Then, madam, I am at your service."

"Oh, REALLY?" Becky asked.

Chuck shrugged. "Why not. I'm stuck here with my sister and her fiancée, what else am I gonna do?"

"Welll…" Becky looked thoughtful. "If you've REALLY got nothing better to do, you could come to the bar with me, protect me from all the creepy old men and, God help me, my brother's 'frat bros'."

"I think I could deal with that," Chuck said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing completely.

And so, half an hour later, Chuck Bartowski knew almost everything there was to know about Rebecca Lianne Matheson, of Covina, California. He was VERY pleasantly surprised to learn that she lived in the greater Los Angeles area. Her brother, three years younger than her and about to start his senior year at USC, had decided to go on a cruise with some of his Pi Sigma Sigma brothers, and Becky's mother had begged her to go on the cruise, if only to make sure her brother didn't get completely smashed and fall over the rail.

Becky had, herself, served four years in the US Army, and the only reason she hadn't been stop-lossed when her contract ended in 2006 was because on her very last patrol in Iraq, she had fallen and torn three of four ligaments in her right knee – the anterior cruciate ligament, the medial collateral ligament, and the posterior cruciate ligament. That took two surgeries and six months of physical therapy to come back from, and it apparently still really hurt in cold weather.

She had just finished her associate's degree in business at Mount San Antonio College, and was planning to start work on her bachelor's at Azusa Pacific in the fall. She didn't seem at all fazed by the fact that Chuck worked at a Nerd Herd help desk, and seemed to believe him when he said that he hadn't cheated in Professor Fleming's class, and that Stanford had totally screwed him.

Her smile seemed to get just a little bit bigger when Chuck told her that he was single. "I was in a relationship with this really amazing woman for about four months," he explained. "But… it was just too intense for both of us, and we figured it would be better for us to go back to just being friends."

Becky nodded. "I've been down that road," she said. "Usually, it has something to do with guys being intimidated by the fact that I'm an Army veteran, but you know what? Just because I've spent more than two years of my life in Iraq doesn't mean that I'm not still a girl. I like being a girl – I just wanted to serve my country too."

Chuck nodded. "That makes more sense to me than I can really explain."

Chuck and Becky ended up spending the remainder of that day together. Finally, late that night, Chuck found himself walking Becky back to her cabin.

They just stood in front of the door for a moment, and finally, Becky broke the silence. "I am impressed," she said. "Most guys would've gone for the kill and tried to kiss me good night."

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "I can't," he said. "I was diagnosed with mono on July 12th. My doctor told me I had to allow at least a month to no longer be contagious."

"Ohhhh," Becky replied, looking a little embarrassed. "My bad."

"Did you just say 'my bad'?" Chuck asked, laughing again. "I haven't heard a girl say that in, like, years!"

"Oh, shut up," Becky laughed, smacking Chuck's arm. "You're a great big smartass, you know that, Chuck Bartowski?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm well aware."

They fell silent again, but this time, the silence was interrupted by a soft beeping. Becky raised an eyebrow, and then looked down at her watch.

"Well," she said quietly. "Would you look at that. It's midnight. August 13th."

Chuck nodded. "Yes… indeed it is," he replied slowly, growing a look of confusion on his face.

Becky looked down at the deck, and smiled shyly. "Chuck…" She looked back up at him. "Your month is up."

"Oooh," he breathed, his eyebrows crawling upward. "So it is."

When he didn't move, though, Becky started laughing again. "You are hopeless, Chuck." Moving so that she stood toe to toe with him, she boosted herself up on her tiptoes, and gently brushed her lips against his.

She pulled back away from him a little – but before she got too far, he had his hands behind her back, and pulled her back in. The second kiss was more than a brush, and definitely not as gentle.

When they separated, she was quiet for a moment. "Wow," she breathed. "You're good."

Chuck smiled. "I know."

Becky laughed again. "Good night, Chuck."

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Okay, so I feel like I need to explain something here. Despite the fact that Becky Matheson is portrayed as a short, blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of energy, and despite the fact that I'm pretty sure you've all figured out at this point that Kristen Bell is one of my favorite actresses, she is NOT, in fact, based on Kristen Bell. Rather, I decided to base her on Elisha Cuthbert. So, there you go._


	3. Mr Brightside

Chuck had had a rough summer. Ellie Bartowski could see that pretty clearly.

Spring was good. Chuck was happier than she had ever seen him before. Sarah looked… well, Sarah looked like a woman newly in love. Ellie remembered when she first supposedly had that look about her – the other women she knew couldn't SHUT THE HELL UP.

She now understood what it was like to see it from the other side.

But then, right around Memorial Day Weekend, something had happened. Something that made the two of them start seeming not so happy.

They both started looking tired all the time. They were a little short with each other, sometimes even irritable.

When Ellie dropped by the Wienerlicious one day in early June to talk to Sarah and saw that she had clearly been beat up pretty badly, she went stomping off toward the Buy More, intent on ripping her brother's colon out through his nose. She couldn't understand what would've made Chuck sink to hitting Sarah, but it was going to be brought to a rapid halt at the hands of Eleanor Fae Bartowski.

But John Casey had intercepted her before she could get to Chuck. He saw her storm into the Buy More, got a rather alarmed look on his face, and forcefully redirected her into the home theatre lounge.

Before she could say a word, he began talking. "It's not what it looks like, Ellie," he told her. That's when Ellie noticed that Casey was looking a little worse for the wear as well.

"John, what the hell is going on?"

He just shook his head, and then pulled back a curtain. "Look at your brother."

Ellie looked across the store to where Chuck stood behind the Nerd Herd desk. He wasn't looking too great himself. There was a band-aid on his neck, and he had what was clearly a fading black eye, in addition to a series of scratches on his face.

In disbelief, she turned back around toward Casey. "John, I repeat: what the hell is going on? Why do you, Chuck, and Sarah all look like you were in a horrific car accident?"

Casey sighed. "Because we were, Ellie. We were driving home yesterday afternoon in Chuck's Herder. We were crossing Alameda on San Fernando, some jackass in a Suburban blew the red light, and t-boned us. Chuck didn't say anything to you?"

Ellie shook her head, looking rather pissed off. "Not a single word," she growled.

Before Casey could stop her, Ellie had wrenched open the door of the home theatre lounge, and went marching off toward the Nerd Herd desk. Casey followed in her wake. Chuck saw the two of them coming, and almost visibly deflated.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me about the accident?!" Ellie demanded as she approached the desk.

Chuck looked at the floor and shook his head. "I didn't want to worry you," he replied. "I mean, yeah, I know that we look pretty beat up, but we weren't hurt. We got checked out at the hospital."

"_Which_ hospital?"

"Glendale Adventist."

Ellie looked at her brother for a moment, and then sighed. "Well, I GUESS that's an alright hospital," she replied. "But the next time something like this happens, I expect you to tell me. Clear?"

Chuck allowed himself a little grin. "Yes, mother."

* * *

"_I have to tell you, Casey, that's the first time I've ever been THANKFUL I was actually in a car accident."_

"_I thought you said she was supposed to be in Berkeley till Wednesday!"_

"_Sorry, dude. My sister's an unpredictable woman sometimes."_

* * *

After the accident, though, things didn't seem to improve between Casey and Sarah. That's when Ellie and Devin cooked up the plan of putting the two of them on a cruise ship for three weeks, without the stress and pressures of Los Angeles and their jobs to bother them.

Ellie was not pleased when ten days later, Chuck came home and announced that he and Sarah were taking a break. However, Sarah called Ellie the next day and told her that she still wanted to go on the cruise – that it would be a great refresher for her and Chuck's friendship.

So, of course, nature conspired to strike Chuck down with mono, and then send the same illness running into the arms of Sarah Walker two days before the cruise was scheduled to leave. Ellie was pissed, Chuck even more so. But it seemed as though Sarah was the most upset about it.

On the morning of August 13th, when Chuck showed up for breakfast in the company of a cute, short blonde, Ellie viewed that development with a mixture of excitement and trepidation – 

excitement because it seemed like Chuck had found himself a new female friend without any help whatsoever, and trepidation because she knew that Sarah was going to be crushed when she found out.

However, Ellie couldn't help but be pleased to watch the relationship between Chuck and Becky Matheson blossom over the three weeks they were on the cruise. She was downright amused at Chuck's unabashed glee when Becky called Alaska Airlines and changed her flight home to be the same as Chuck, Ellie, and Devin's flight.

John Casey had volunteered to pick them all up from the airport, so Ellie figured that perhaps a quick phone call would be in order. She made the call two days before they were scheduled to head back.

"You're kidding," Casey said. "Chuck found himself a girlfriend with no outside influence?"

"Believe it or not," Ellie replied. "She's a real looker, too."

Casey grunted. "So, was that the only purpose of the call? To shock and awe me with Bartow- uh, Chuck's newfound manly prowess?"

Ellie laughed. "No, actually," she replied, and then turned serious. "I know that Sarah hasn't been told about this yet, because Chuck wants to tell her in person. So, I think it would probably be a good idea if you didn't let her come with you to the airport on Sunday."

Casey sighed. "Oh, joy," he grumbled. "I get to be the Sarah Walker Restraint Team."

* * *

As the four walked through Los Angeles International Airport, Ellie couldn't help but be amused by the teenager-like actions of Chuck and Becky. It reminded her a great deal of the opening days of her relationship with Devin.

Of course, she and Devin had been 17 and 18, respectively, at the time, so she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Heading down the concourse, she and Devin caught up to Chuck and Becky, and then overtook them. Ellie could understand and appreciate their walking slowly, taking their time. Becky's car was parked here at LAX, so once she retrieved her bags, she and Chuck would be going their separate ways, and due to their work schedules, they wouldn't see each other for a week – which, after spending three weeks together ALL THE TIME, would probably seem nigh to an eternity.

As they were approaching the exits from the secured part of the terminal, though, Ellie realized that perhaps it was for the best that she and Devin would be coming out first. Sitting right outside the exits, despite her warning, was John Casey – with Sarah Walker right next to him.

Sarah smiled when she saw Ellie and Devin, but her expression turned almost immediately to an expression of shock, and even horror. Almost simultaneously, Casey's face took on a look that Ellie could only interpret as "oh shit."

Seconds later, Sarah's expression changed to anger, and then her face crumpled. She stood up, and stormed off, out of Ellie's line of sight.

Ellie turned around – and, sure enough, Chuck was kissing Becky. "Shit," she breathed. "Devin, I'll be back in a moment."

Devin made a face. "Yeah. Gotcha, babe."

Ellie handed Devin her purse, then took off in pursuit of Sarah Walker. She rounded the corner into the main part of the terminal just in time to see Sarah disappear into a bathroom.

* * *

"_Dude, where'd Ellie go?"_

_Devin leans over and whispers in Chuck's ear. Chuck's face falls._

"_Aw, crap."_

* * *

Ellie slowly pushed open the door to the women's room. At first glance, it looked empty –

But no, that was definitely a muffled sob she had just heard. Stepping into the back of the bathroom, Ellie saw that one of the stall doors was shut and locked. She walked over to it, and knocked on it gently. "Sarah?"

Ellie heard the latch being undone, and then the door swung open. There sat Sarah Walker, face red, eyes bloodshot, tears on her face, a Kleenex in her hand. Ellie sighed.

"That's why Casey didn't want me to come to the airport, isn't it?" Sarah asked, her voice threatening to break.

Ellie nodded. "I'm sorry, Sarah. He didn't want you to find out like this."

Sarah sighed, and sniffled. "I don't know what upsets me more," she grumbled. "The fact that he's clearly happy with somebody else, or the fact that I'm reacting like this."

"Hey," Ellie replied, "you ARE still recovering from mono. In my medical opinion, you've got a pretty good excuse for being emotional."

Sarah smiled, but Ellie could tell she didn't really mean it. "Thanks, Ellie," the younger woman said. She inhaled deeply, then let her breath out again as she stood. "I guess… I just thought 

that maybe, even though we didn't get to spend the three weeks together, maybe things would be better when he came back. You know, time apart and all that."

Ellie nodded again. "I understand, Sarah. I was kind of hoping it would be that way too."

Sarah stepped out of the stall, and walked around the corner, toward a sink. "The thing is," she said, "I don't understand why I'm so upset about this. So Chuck has a girlfriend who's not me. I should be happy for him. He's my friend."

"It's not that easy, and you know it," Ellie replied. "I saw the way you two were just a few months ago. You were clearly in love, and that's not easy to put behind you."

Sarah nodded, and then laughed bitterly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, though," she said. "By my count, that now makes it Life 4, Sarah 0. I guess I should just accept the fact that I'm going to die unloved and alone."

"I seriously doubt that," Ellie replied. "You're a beautiful woman. You're one of the kindest people I've ever met. Surely there's somebody who will see that. And who knows – it might even be Chuck. This thing with this other girl could be temporary."

Sarah lifted her head, and looked at Ellie, her eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm sorry," she said, "but have you met your brother? He is one of the most loyal men to ever walk this planet. Nothing with him is temporary. Even if that relationship starts to go down the tubes, he will do everything in his power to make it right."

Ellie sighed. She knew Sarah was right. That's just the way Chuck was.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Opening it, she called Devin.

"_Yo,_" he answered a moment later.

"Hey, babe, listen. I'm gonna take Sarah and take a cab home. I don't think this is a good time for her to be around Chuck."

"_Gonna go ahead and say you're absolutely right, babe. Alright, I'll get the Chuckster and the bags and load up John's car. See you at home?_"

"See you there. Love you."

"_Love you too._"

Sarah sighed at the simple act of Ellie telling Devin that she loved him. Ellie noticed, and reached out to the younger woman, pulling her into a hug.

After a moment, Sarah pulled back. "Thank you, Ellie," she said quietly.

"Of course," Ellie replied. "My brother might not be thinking too clearly right now, but I still think of you as family. And I know Chuck still cares about you."

Sarah nodded. "I know he does, too… I'm just beginning to think it's in a TV show sort of way… like Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars, or something."

Ellie made a face. "Sarah, let me assure you – if my brother starts saying things about 'epic love' to you, just let me know, and I will slap him silly."

Sarah smiled, and it finally looked genuine. "Thanks, Ellie. I'll keep that in mind."


	4. Love Is a Battlefield

The knock on the door was so light that she thought she was imagining things for a moment. But when it came again, louder and more insistent, Sarah got up and crossed to the door.

She looked through the peephole – and froze. Chuck Bartowski stood on the other side of the door. She hadn't seen him since the day before – and that was an image she really never wanted to see again.

Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She really didn't want to deal with this right now –

"I know you're standing on the other side of the door." Chuck's voice penetrated her mental shields. "Come on, Sarah, please open up."

Sarah sighed. Chuck knew her too well. Reaching down, she slid back the deadbolt, then opened the door.

"Hi," she said, quietly.

"Hi," Chuck replied. Neither of them moved – Chuck to try to enter the hotel room, or Sarah to let him in. Chuck shuffled awkwardly, from one foot to the other.

"Chuck –" Sarah finally began, just as he said, "Listen –"

They both laughed, a little uncomfortably. "Go ahead," Sarah said.

"Okay," Chuck replied. "So, I was hoping I could talk to you about… well, everything. I think we can talk about this like adults."

Sarah looked at the floor, willing her eyes not to start tearing up. "But, if this is a bad time, I can come back," Chuck said hastily.

Sarah blinked, and looked back up at Chuck. "No," she said, firmly. "You're right. We're adults, we can talk about this like adults. Come in."

She stepped back, letting Chuck into the hotel room. Ordinarily, he would've walked to the bed and sat down on it, with Sarah sitting next to him, but this time, he crossed to the chair in the corner that faced the bed, and sat down there.

With a heavy heart, Sarah sat down on the end of the king size bed. It felt large and lonely, as she sat there by herself. "So…" she said, hesitating. "What do you want to talk about?"

Chuck looked her in the eyes. "I want to know how you're feeling," he replied, not beating around the bush.

Sarah let her gaze fall to the floor, and took a moment before answering. "Pretty shitty," she finally said, her voice small and quiet.

She looked back up at Chuck, her eyes beginning to water. "I mean… I don't want to say you've screwed my life up, Chuck, but…" She laughed. "I'm a CIA deep-cover operative. I'm not supposed to react this way."

"You're a person, a human being," Chuck rebuked her. "Just because you're in the CIA doesn't mean you can't have feelings, and that's what I want you to tell me."

Sarah nodded. "I know," she said. "But… I've never been very good with talking about my feelings."

"I understand that," Chuck replied, "but it's still… I still think it's important that you tell me how you feel right now."

Sarah took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "I feel like you completely screwed me over."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "I kinda figured that."

And now, it was all starting to bubble to the surface. "I mean, what was that all about, Chuck?" Sarah asked, a little desperation starting to show in her voice. "Let's take a break, maybe we'll get back together, then you go on a cruise, and you come back with… I mean, for God's sake, she's mini ME!"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "No, no she's not," he replied. "The fact that she has blonde hair and blue eyes is completely coincidental."

"Oh, gotcha," Sarah replied, her mouth about thirty seconds ahead of her brain. "You went after her because she's NOT me."

Chuck's jaw dropped, disbelief painting itself on his face. "What?!" he asked, as Sarah realized the enormity of what she'd said. "At what point did I EVER say that?" he snapped.

"No, that's not what I meant, Chuck," Sarah replied, frustrated.

"But it's what you said!" Chuck shot back. "So, what? You think I can't deal with somebody like you? Sarah, for God's sake, she was in the Army! She did a tour in Iraq!"

The fact that Chuck was pressing the point was starting to anger Sarah a bit. "Still, though," she said. "How is it that you went from, 'Oh, Sarah, we can make things work, in time' to 'Oh, hey, I'm bangin' somebody else' so quickly?!"

"I cannot believe you just said that," Chuck growled. "You think it's about SEX? Let me tell you something, Sarah. Rebecca Matheson is a wonderful person. She's sweet, she's funny, she's even a little bit of a nerd like me." His voice got louder as he built up a head of steam. "And you know what, now that I think about it, no, she's not like you. She'll tell me her real name. She'll tell me her birthday. She'll let me in. Hell, I knew her brother and her mother's names before I had known her for twenty-four hours!"

Chuck's face had turned bright red. Sarah had never seen him so mad. But that's not what she was thinking about. His last sentence had hit her like a physical blow. _She's not like you. She'll let me in._

"So, what?!" Sarah snapped. "I wouldn't 'let you in'? I told you when this whole thing started, Chuck, that there are things I can't tell you! But I did my damnedest to let you in as much as I could! I trusted you. I cried on your shoulder. I fell asleep in your arms because I trusted you, and because I lo-"

She cut herself off. Chuck looked at her, his eyes guarded. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," Sarah snapped. "Just, go. Please."

"That's it?" Chuck asked. "You were about to tell me that you loved me, and now you want me to go?"

"Chuck, PLEASE, leave now."

"Sarah, I'm not leaving until we-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"Okay," Chuck said quietly and calmly. He knew better than to argue with Sarah after she said that.

He stood from the chair and crossed the room. Sarah didn't look up until after she heard the door click shut.

She looked up and saw her face in the mirror. She looked like hell.

"GODDAMMIT!" she howled. She looked down – an ice bucket sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. Picking it up, she hurled it at the mirror as hard as she could.

* * *

In the hallway, Chuck heard the glass break. He sighed, looked down, and shook his head. "I can't believe I let myself lose my temper," he muttered. "How is it that she can still get to me like that?"

He headed downstairs. When he reached the lobby, he crossed to the reception desk. "Do me a favor," he said to the clerk on duty. "When you get a chance, can you call up to room 1138 and make sure she's okay?"

"Absolutely, sir."

Once outside, Chuck got in the Herder. He looked up, up toward Sarah's room. It was something he'd done before, seeing her up there. And –

She was there, but she disappeared from the window as soon as she realized he was looking up at her. Chuck sighed. He wanted so badly for them to still be friends, but this was not a good sign.

He started up the Herder and pulled away from the curb. All the way home, Sarah's words ate at him. _She almost told me that she loved me_, he thought.

And truthfully, Chuck had no clue what he would have done if she had finished that sentence. He really liked Becky. He liked her a whole lot. But the fact of the matter was, Sarah Walker had been in possession of a very large part of his heart for a very long time, and if she said the words "I love you" to Chuck… well, he didn't know if he could back away from that.

When Chuck got back to the apartment complex in Echo Park, he parked the Herder and turned it off, but didn't get out. He just sat there, thinking.

He had been sitting in Herder for close to fifteen minutes when a knock on the window snapped him out of his reverie. Startled, he looked up to see John Casey looking in at him.

Chuck sighed, unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened the door. "I take it it didn't go so great?" Casey asked as Chuck got out of the car.

Chuck sighed and shook his head. "Let's just say it ended with her screaming at me to get the fuck out," Chuck replied.

Casey raised his eyebrows. "Christ, Bartowski, what the hell did you do?"

"I told her the truth!" Chuck protested.

"Oh, great idea," Casey deadpanned.

"Come on, Casey," Chuck shot back, "what was I supposed to do? I have NO IDEA how to handle a jealous, angry CIA operative."

"Well, first of all, you don't EVER try to handle Sarah Walker," Casey said. "I thought you would've known better than that by now."

"Not –" Chuck spluttered. "You know what I mean, Casey. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to Sarah when she's like this."

"Maybe nothing would've been a good idea," Casey told him.

"Oh, sure," Chuck replied. "Say nothing at all. Let Sarah think that I went off to Alaska, got myself some hot new blonde chick, and that I don't care about her at all. That's great for a friendship."

Casey sighed and leaned against the Herder. "Alright, Bartowski," he said quietly. "I'm gonna say this once, and only once, because I am NOT generally in the business of dispensing friendship or relationship advice."

"I'm all ears," Chuck said wryly.

"Okay," Casey replied. "You fucked up. You fucked up BIG time. Walker likes you. For all I know, Walker may even be in love with you. You know that, you KNEW that when you went on this cruise."

"And so I was supposed to put my LIFE on hold for the benefit of her feelings?" Chuck shot back. "You know, I don't know how things would've turned out if she'd been able to go on the cruise, but the fact of the matter is, she DIDN'T. I met somebody who I really like, and I'm not gonna just sit around waiting for Sarah to get over me before I go after somebody else."

"I'm not saying you should," Casey growled. "I'm just saying that maybe there would've been an easier way to let her know than macking on Sergeant Matheson in the middle of LAX!"

"AND SHE WOULDN'T HAVE SEEN ME IF YOU HADN'T LET HER COME ALONG!" Chuck yelled at Casey, suddenly losing his temper. "I DISTINCTLY remember asking you not to let her come with you!"

"You know what, she insisted," Casey snapped, his temper getting close to the edge as well. "You try saying 'No' to Walker."

"Just for the record, I HAVE said 'No' to her before," Chuck shot back.

"Oh, really," Casey retorted. "Is that why she was able to talk you into screwing her right AFTER you two broke up?"

That was the final straw for Chuck Bartowski. Without warning, his right arm swung upward, his fist catching John Casey right on the chin. Casey's head snapped backward, and he lost his balance, falling backward to the pavement.

Casey just lay there for a moment, stunned, as Chuck realized what he'd done. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry, Casey," he stammered, reaching down to help Casey up.

"No, no, it's okay," Casey replied, taking Chuck's hand and pulling himself up off the pavement. "I probably deserved that."

Chuck shook his head. "No, this is between me and Sarah. I shouldn't be pulling you into it."

Casey chuckled. "Bartowski, I'm IN IT, whether you like it or not. It's just the nature of the assignment."

Chuck nodded. "Right."

Casey turned away from Chuck and headed back toward his apartment. "Go to sleep, Bartowski. Try not to punch anybody else tonight."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Oh, and Bartowski?"

"Yeah?"

"That was a decent hit. I didn't realize you had it in you."

Chuck laughed softly. "Good night, Casey."

Casey's door swung shut, the sound echoing across the courtyard. Chuck reached down to his belt and removed his phone.

He dialed a number, and held the phone to his ear. "Hey, Becks. Listen… do you think I can come over?"

He was quiet while she replied. "No, nothing like that. I've just had a rotten day, and I'd really like to just hang out with you for a while." He smiled at her response. "Okay, I'll see you in a few."


	5. Jealousy Is a Stinky Cologne

_**Author's Note:** the title of this chapter is a line from the movie _SuperTroopers_. It was spoken by the local police chief, played by Daniel von Bargen, to the highway patrol captain, played by Brian Cox, following a major triumph on the local police's part that was fumbled by Cox's highway patrol unit._

* * *

"Where the hell is he?"

"Running a few minutes late?"

"No shit, Casey."

"Cool your jets, Walker. He'll get here when he gets here. Getting pissed about it isn't gonna make that happen any faster."

Sarah blew her breath out in frustration. Casey was right, and quite frankly, this whole situation was spiraling out of control. She had gotten to the point where she felt like she loved Chuck and hated his guts simultaneously.

She was furious over what had happened in the last couple of days. First, she had lost her temper with Chuck on Monday evening. Then, she refused to talk to him – she instead went the route of acting like a small, petulant child.

According to Casey, this was not making Chuck happy. As if Casey was reading Sarah's mind, he spoke up. "He just wants to be your friend, Sarah. You know that. You know how much he cares about you, how much you mean to him."

She turned to Casey. "Please, tell me you're not trying to play relationship counselor, Casey," she said sarcastically. "Your idea of a productive relationship is getting tied to the headboard of a bed."

Casey looked at her in disbelief, and then laughed. "You know what, Walker. Fine. Go ahead. You want to destroy what you have left with the only person in your life who cares about you without condition, you be my guest. But, with all due respect, you're an idiot if you do."

And there was a knock at the door, effectively putting an end to the conversation. Casey pulled it open to reveal Chuck. "You're late," he growled.

"I know," Chuck replied, looking contrite. He stepped into the apartment. "Hi, Sarah."

"Chuck," she said, not looking up. She knew that if she made eye contact, if she looked into his brown eyes, then that would be the end. She would beg him for forgiveness, and that was NOT going to happen.

"Well, good to see you two getting along," Casey deadpanned. Crossing to the television, he turned it on to reveal the faces of General Beckman and Director Graham looking out at them. "General, Director. Good afternoon."

"You're late," General Beckman said, casting an accusing eye on Chuck.

"Heavy traffic on the Five, ma'am," Chuck replied with a gulp.

"Surely you mean the Ten, Mr. Bartowski," Director Graham said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not that familiar with Los Angeles freeways, but isn't that the freeway that runs between Covina and downtown Los Angeles?"

Chuck's eyes widened, as Casey and Sarah both turned glares on him. "Uh, right."

Casey narrowed his eyes. "Can you give us a moment?" General Beckman nodded, almost imperceptibly. Casey grabbed Chuck by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen.

"The HELL, Bartowski?!" he gritted through his teeth. "You said you had to work today!"

Chuck looked sheepish, but his tone was anything but apologetic. "I lied, Casey," he replied. "I wanted to go see Becky without getting the third degree from you and without upsetting Sarah."

"And yet you couldn't bring it upon yourself to be here on time," Casey shot back.

"The traffic WAS bad!" Chuck insisted. "You try driving between there and here on a Thursday afternoon!"

Casey grunted. "Yeah," he said. "Come on, let's go finish this damn briefing."

"Sorry about that, Director, General," Casey said, as they re-entered the living room. He looked over at Sarah – she was clearly making a concerted effort to remain calm and collected. Casey couldn't tell if she was about to cry, kill somebody, or possibly both.

"Alright, so here's the deal," General Beckman said. "There's a reception being held at the Beverly Hilton tomorrow night that's being thrown by the Argentinean consulate. We've heard that there may be some Venezuelans and Colombians with ties to Hugo Chavez there, and we want you there, Bartowski, to see if you flash on anybody."

Chuck nodded. "Sounds simple enough. Look for nasty people, see if they- wait. You said tomorrow night?"

General Beckman raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Yeah," Chuck confirmed. "I have a date tomorrow night. First time I've been able to go out with my girlfriend since we got back to Los Angeles."

"Cancel it," Graham ordered. "I'm sure Sergeant Matheson will understand."

"First of all, her name's Becky," Chuck shot back. "Secondly, why should I?"

Graham looked back at Chuck in disbelief. "Because you have a mission, Mr. Bartowski."

"A mission for which I'm getting paid how much, exactly?" Chuck asked.

Graham and Beckman both stared at Chuck, then slowly turned to look at each other. Beckman looked back toward Chuck. "Excuse me?"

"Well," Chuck began, "last time I checked, I had received not a dime of compensation from the United States government for the past eleven months, during which time I've had this godforsaken Intersect in my head, during which time I've repeatedly risked life and limb, during which time I've had my personal life completely uprooted for the benefit of the CIA and the NSA."

Beckman's face registered her shock. "You're telling us you want to get paid?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm making thirteen-fifty an hour as the assistant manager of an electronics store," he replied. "I'm making precisely diddly-squat for being the government's plaything, and I'm tired of it."

Beckman shook her head. "What do you two think?"

"Honestly, it sounds reasonable to me," Casey replied. "Walker?"

Sarah looked at the floor and bit her lip. "I don't know," she said quietly.

Chuck looked over at her. "Gosh, THANKS, Sarah," he said sarcastically.

Graham cleared his throat. "We'll consider it, Bartowski," he said. "For now, though, be at Major Casey's apartment tomorrow night at 7:00. Any questions?"

* * *

"Where the FUCK is he?!"

"Running a few minutes late?"

Sarah wanted to scream. "I cannot believe he's doing this!" she shouted.

Casey looked perturbed. "I'm sure he's just stuck in traffic or something," he assured her. "There's no way he'd stand up a mission."

"Oh yeah?" Sarah challenged him. "Let's find out, shall we?"

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. A moment later, she said, "Yes, this is Federal Agent Sarah Walker. I need a trace on phone number 323-555-3145."

Sarah was quiet for a moment as she listened. "Mm-hmm," she said. "Right. Okay, can you tell me what's at that address?"

Casey watched as Sarah's face turned red and her expression darkened. "Thank you very much," she said tightly, hanging up the phone.

"Walker…"

"He's AT THE FUCKING HOTEL ALREADY," she growled. "The phone has apparently been sitting in Circa 55 Restaurant for the last hour."

Casey shrugged. "Okay, so he's multi-tasking," he said. "He figured that rather than cancel his date, he'd have it where he needed to be for the mission."

"It's not SAFE for him to be there without us!"

Casey gave Sarah a look. "He's there with a former US Army Ranger," Casey replied. "He'll be fine."

"That's beside the point!"

* * *

Half an hour later, Casey and Sarah entered the Beverly Hilton, dressed to kill – literally. Both were dressed in all black, though they were also certainly dressed appropriately for the reception.

"Stay HERE," Casey ordered Sarah as they crossed through Trader Vic's lounge. She grimaced, but took a seat. Casey kept going, headed toward Circa 55.

"I'm looking for an associate of mine," he told the maitre d' upon entering the restaurant. "He's about six-three, curly brown – oh, never mind, there he is."

Chuck looked up as Casey approached, and nodded his head at Casey. Saying something to Becky that Casey couldn't hear, Chuck stood up and approached him.

"We've been at the hotel all day," Chuck said in a low voice, so that only Casey could hear him. "We cased the place pretty well. This –" he pressed a piece of paper into Casey's palm "- is a list of twenty-two Venezuelan and Colombian agents who are here at the hotel."

Casey's brow creased in confusion. "You've been here doing recon all day?"

Chuck shook his head and smiled. "Not quite," he said. "We checked in last night. While Becky was at the spa this morning, I recon'd the hotel."

Casey shook his head in amazement. "Bartowski, when the hell did you become a spy?"

Chuck laughed softly. "I learned from the best, Casey."

Casey smiled and clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Have a good night, Bartowski. Call us – actually, call me if you see anybody else."

"Roger that, Casey."

Casey turned and headed out of the restaurant, leaving Chuck to return to his girlfriend. Casey laughed and shook his head as he exited Circa 55. He never would've guessed that Chuck would take this kind of initiative.

Casey walked back over to Sarah, sitting by herself in Trader Vic's, nursing what looked suspiciously like a Long Island Ice Tea. "Well, our man Bartowski is quite the resourceful fella," Casey said as he walked up to Sarah.

"What do you mean?"

Casey handed her the list as he sat down next to her. "He and Becky have been here last night. While she was at the spa this morning, he recon'd the hotel and flashed on these twenty-two individuals who are currently staying here."

Sarah heard the entire explanation, but it became clear to Casey that she had checked out as soon as he had mentioned the fact that Chuck and Becky had been at the hotel overnight. The facial cues were subtle, but there they were – widened eyes, a slight flare of the nostrils, a pink flush creeping up her cheeks.

"So," Sarah said. "What you're saying is that he engaged in a mission without authorization or backup."

"Walker…"

"Casey, that's what he did, isn't it?"

"Yes, Walker, that's what he did, but we're going to let it slide," Casey said, trying to bring Sarah back down to earth.

"No, Casey, no we're not," Sarah growled. "He can't just go off on his own like this and think he can get away with it."

"Are you sure you're not thinking of something else there, Walker?" Casey asked.

Sarah stared daggers at him, and then stood up and headed toward the entrance to Circa 55. "Walker," Casey called. "Walker!"

She ignored him, stalking toward the restaurant. "Aw, hell," Casey groaned, and stood up, taking off after Walker.

* * *

Chuck's ears perked up when he heard what sounded like Casey yelling Sarah's last name. His nerves went on edge, and he mentally braced himself for the worst.

So, when she stormed through the door of the restaurant a moment later, he wasn't surprised, but he was upset. "Crap," he breathed.

Becky looked at him curiously, and then turned to look the direction he was facing. "Who's that?" she asked Chuck, her eyes going wide as she turned back to him.

"That would be my ex-girlfriend," he mumbled. "Her name is Sarah Walker."

Becky raised an eyebrow. "REA-lly," she said. "Hmmm."

Sarah stormed up to the table. "What the hell were you thinking, Chuck?!" she grated.

"Very nice to see you too, Sarah," he shot back sarcastically. "And I was thinking about the old aphorism of how you can kill two birds with one stone. Casey seemed to approve."

"Casey's getting soft in his old age," Sarah growled. "How could you have done something so stupid?!"

Chuck opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Becky had jumped up and interposed herself between Chuck and Sarah. "Hi!" she said, sticking out her hand. "My name's Becky Matheson. You must be Sarah Walker!"

"I know who you are," Sarah snapped. "This is between me and Chuck. It doesn't involve you."

Becky raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," she replied, "but if it involves my boyfriend and one of his ex-girlfriends, then it sure as hell involves me."

Sarah shook her head. "Nice, Chuck," she cracked. "Letting your girlfriend deal with me. Some man you are."

Chuck's eyes widened, and his face turned red. He turned toward Sarah, ready to say something, but once again, before he could say anything, Becky turned to him and raised a hand, silencing him. "Let me handle this," she whispered.

And then, she leaned in and kissed Chuck. It was no innocent, chaste, peck on the lips, either. It was a long, smoldering kiss, that bore the promise of good things to come later that night.

When Becky pulled back, Chuck just leaned back and smiled. Becky turned to Sarah, who looked about ready to go nuclear. "Some man he is, huh?" Becky asked Sarah. Then her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped to a dangerous octave. "Let me tell you something, lady. He's more man than you can handle."

Sarah's eyes widened, and the world around her froze. Her right hand came back, ready to knock Becky Matheson into next week –

And it stopped before she could even come back into the fore swing, John Casey's hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. "That's QUITE enough, Walker," he growled. "We're outta here."


	6. High Crimes, High Speed, Hi, Infidelity

Sarah Walker was not having a good night.

But then again, very few people have a good night when it ends with them going to jail.

Sarah wasn't exactly pleased with the sequence of events that got her there, either.

* * *

Casey walked away from Chuck and Becky's table, almost dragging Sarah behind him. She resisted for a moment, but finally turned and followed Casey out of Circa 55.

"What the hell is the matter with you, Walker?!" he demanded as soon as they were outside. "That was quite possibly the most unprofessional thing I have EVER seen!"

"I was unprofessional?!" she shot back. "Excuse me, but what about the guy in there who went on an unsanctioned recon mission earlier today?"

"Oh, please," Casey sneered. "Talk about the pot and the fucking kettle."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you go off on unsanctioned business ALL THE TIME, Walker!" Casey snapped. "And you're damn lucky it hasn't bitten you in the ass yet!"

He took a deep breath. "Walk with me," he said, shaking his head. Sarah, still fuming, nonetheless acquiesced, following Casey.

Casey waited until he was a reasonable distance away from the hotel, and then turned to face Sarah. "Alright, I need you to listen to me, and listen to me very carefully," he said. "I don't know what the hell it is that crawled up your ass and died, but you have GOT to take care of it. Bartowski still cares about you a great deal. He still wants to be your friend."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "But you are refusing to let him in. From what I can tell, you've developed this attitude of you want it all, or you don't want anything. That's not healthy, Walker, and it's affecting your job performance."

"The hell it's affecting my job performance!" Sarah replied hotly. "What part exactly of my job performance is it affecting?!"

"The part where you almost just assaulted an Army Ranger in public," Casey growled. "That is NOT what a deep-cover operative does, and YOU KNOW IT."

"And you'd know, wouldn't you, Major?" Sarah asked sarcastically. "Tell me again, how'd you end up flying a desk for so long before getting sent after Bryce?"

"You might want to shut the fuck up, Walker," Casey said, his voice low and dangerous.

"No, no, Casey, wasn't it something about opening up on a gang of kids in Paris? Didn't that lead to some sort of RIOTS?!"

Casey's fists clenched. "Well at least _I_ didn't spend half my formative years in the Arizona juvenile justice system," he shot back. "What was that like, Walker? Did you have a bitch at Adobe Mountain? Or were you somebody else's bitch?"

Sarah's eyes widened, and she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. "How… how could… how did you know about that?!"

"I know more than you could possibly imagine, Walker," Casey replied wearily. Suddenly looking tired, he turned away from her and started walking toward a black Crown Victoria. "Just do me a favor and try to make up with Bartowski," he grumbled as he walked away.

Sarah stood in one position, as though she were rooted to the concrete. She was still standing there long after Casey had started his Crown Vic and driven away.

_HOW COULD HE HAVE KNOWN?!_ her mind raged. All that information was part of her sealed file. Nobody, NOBODY below Director Graham was ever supposed to see that.

* * *

John Casey hadn't made it up, though. Kelly Fordham of Kirkland, Washington, had been a troubled little girl growing up. Her father had left when she was three years old, and by the time she was twelve, Kelly was out of control. An undiagnosed case of ADHD was thought, years later, to have been the culprit.

Kelly's mother, unable to deal with her daughter any longer, had sent her, at the age of fourteen, to live with her aunt and uncle in Mesa, Arizona. A strict Mormon couple, it was hoped that they would help get Kelly into shape. It backfired on them, though. Despite being smart as a whip, Kelly was also a little hellion.

She was kicked out of Seton Catholic High School before the end of the first semester of her freshman year, and only lasted a semester and a half at Gilbert Highland High School before committing her first crime – breaking and entering at a store in Mesa called Milano Music. Kelly had seen a Gibson acoustic guitar in the window and decided she wanted it.

The judge she had gone before was a fairly sympathetic individual, but he brooked no nonsense. He had sentenced Kelly to five hundred hours of community service and informed her in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to see her in his courtroom again.

Of course, she wound up back there in practically no time. She had gone to the Mesa YMCA for her community service. Her fourth day there, she found herself being taunted by one of her former classmates from Seton.

That girl wound up in the hospital, and Kelly got to spend the summer at Adobe Mountain Correctional School in north Phoenix. At the end of the summer, she went back to Highland High for her sophomore year, hoping that word wouldn't get out. She tried to be on her best behavior, and for a while, things seemed to work.

Over Christmas break, however, somehow it got to the student body where Kelly had spent her summer. Humiliated, she had run away from home. She was found two weeks later, living with some guy in his off-campus apartment near Arizona State University.

He ended up doing time for statutory rape, and Kelly's aunt and uncle just about put a shock collar on her. However, with the promise that she would behave, she was transferred to Red Mountain High School, with the hope of a fresh start.

However, rumors of her past followed Kelly to Red Mountain like an albatross. She managed to make it halfway through her junior year without any serious incident, but when she threw a Molotov cocktail through the front window of a deli that had refused to hire her, that was nearly the final straw. Back in front of the same judge for the third time, he came down on her pretty hard, sending her back to north Phoenix – but this time, to the Black Canyon Detention Center, which adjoined Adobe Mountain.

After spending six months in jail, Kelly was informed by her aunt and uncle that she had one last chance. They had enrolled her at Bostrom Alternative High School in central Phoenix, and told her that if she worked at it, she would be able to finish by her expected graduation date of May 2001.

She almost made it. Kelly buckled down and hit the bricks her senior year. Her eighteenth birthday came and went in October without incident. She scored a 1560 on the SAT, and it looked like the University of Arizona was interested in offering her an ROTC scholarship.

Two weeks before graduation, everything fell apart. Kelly's boyfriend decided one night that it would be fun for them to steal a car, despite her misgivings. Ten minutes after driving the Mercedes E-class out of the parking lot of the Camelback Inn, Phoenix Police pulled them over on Lincoln Drive. Kelly's boyfriend bailed out of the car and disappeared into the darkness of Squaw Peak Park.

Kelly was arrested for grand theft auto, and dumped into the Fourth Avenue Jail in downtown Phoenix. Her aunt and uncle refused to come bail her out, telling her that she had blown her last chance. And so, for the next three days, she sat in the jail, trying to avoid contact with any of the rather unfortunate looking women in there.

On the fourth day, she had an unexpected visitor. It was the judge from the juvenile court in Mesa.

His name was Arthur Graham, and it turned out that President Bush had appointed him Deputy Director (Operations) of the Central Intelligence Agency after taking office in January. He came to Kelly Fordham with an offer. Work for me, he said, and all of this goes away.

And so Sarah Walker was born.

* * *

But Casey wasn't supposed to know any of that. Sarah's file was supposed to be sealed. Kelly Fordham was dead and gone. She never wanted to hear that name again.

And the more Sarah thought about it, the madder she got. Finally, she made herself move, and stormed off toward her Porsche.

Getting in, she just sat there for a moment, and then started up the German sports car and pulled out of the lot. Down Wilshire she went, and she just kept going – out of Beverly Hills, through Westwood, into Santa Monica, until she reached the end of the road. A right turn on Ocean Avenue, and a moment later, she was on the Pacific Coast Highway, headed north.

Sarah didn't have a particular destination in mind – she just needed to drive. Rolling the windows down, she inhaled the salt air coming off the sea. It was invigorating.

When she reached Sunset Boulevard, she closed her eyes. She could go for a real speed run – the only stoplight along the PCH for the next ten miles was at Topanga Canyon Boulevard, and nobody would be coming off of that at this time of night.

Sarah opened her eyes, and revved the Porsche's engine. A small smile began to appear on her face.

The light at Sunset turned green, and Sarah punched the gas. The Porsche leapt forward like a runner from the starting blocks. Sarah shifted quickly through second and third gear, hitting sixty miles an hour less than six seconds after leaving the intersection.

Sarah kept accelerating as she shifted upward. As she blew through the intersection at Topanga Canyon Boulevard, she caught a glimpse of an old Buick Regal going the other direction. _Too bad he's not going my way,_ Sarah thought, looking down at her speedometer, which read 134. _I could totally smoke him_.

Much to her dismay, though, a moment later, Sarah saw a most unwelcome sight in her rearview mirror – flashing red and blue lights. They were quite a way back, but they were rapidly coming up on her. "What the hell kind of engine does that cop have?" she asked herself, thinking of the Cake song "Satan Is My Motor".

Sarah began to slow down, but she was still going over eighty when the car came into view. To Sarah's surprise, she realized it was the same Buick that had passed her going the other direction. He flashed his high beams, and she continued to slow, pulling off the PCH at the next safety pull out.

Sarah sighed, and rested her head against the steering wheel. This was not good. She looked up as she heard feet crunching on gravel. "Evening, ma'am," said the officer. He was tall, fairly thin, had red hair, and looked really familiar for some reason. "Could you step out of the car, please?"

Sarah groaned, but acquiesced, opening the door of the Porsche, and stepping out of the car. She looked again at the police officer. "You look really familiar," she said.

The left side of his mouth twitched upward in a sort of half smile. "I get that a lot," he replied. "I'm gonna need to see some ID, and your registration."

Sarah bent over, reaching into the Porsche and retrieving her registration. She did so in a manner that was meant to strategically demonstrate the curvature of her posterior for the police officer's benefit – it wasn't the first time she'd been pulled over. As she pulled back, she dipped her hand into her purse and came out with her wallet. She handed the registration to the officer, and reached into her wallet for her CIA ID.

As she handed the ID to the officer, her eyes widened. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "You're that officer who was convicted of murder, and then had the conviction overturned, and ended up back with the LAPD."

Then her eyes narrowed. "But aren't you a homicide detective now?"

He nodded. "Detective Charlie Crews, at your service… Agent Sarah Walker?"

"That's me," she replied, with a sigh.

"So, yeah," he said, handing her back her ID and registration. "I am a homicide detective these days, but I'm still a police officer, and I observed you committing a gross demonstration of speed. Seriously, I'd guess you were going in excess of 120. I can't just let that slide."

"Of course," Sarah groaned. "So what now?"

Detective Crews shrugged. "Lock up the Porsche, and grab your purse. You're under arrest."

"Aw, come on," Sarah objected. "You're kidding!"

Crews shook his head. "Not kidding at all, Agent Walker. We can either do this the easy way, where you give me the gun that's bound to be in your purse, and go get in my car voluntarily, or the hard way, where I handcuff you and toss you in the back seat of the car."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her Colt 1911 and her keys. She handed the gun to Detective Crews, who looked at it with an admiring eye, and then hit the button to lock the Porsche and turn on its anti-theft system.

Turning on a heel, she marched back toward the Buick Regal. "This is a nice gun, Agent Walker," Detective Crews called after her as he, too, headed toward the car.

* * *

Sarah Walker was not having a good night.

And now she couldn't get anybody on the phone, either. Casey's phone was going directly to voicemail. Ellie Bartowski wasn't picking up. She couldn't call Director Graham, because he'd go straight around the bend.

So she was left with one option. Not exactly an option she really wanted to utilize.

But she really had no choice. So with a sigh, she dialed the number. It rang once, twice, three times –

"Hello?"

"Chuck, it's Sarah."

Silence for a moment. "Hello, Sarah."

"Um, where are you at right now?"

"Sarah…"

"Seriously, Chuck. I need to know where you are."

She could hear Chuck sigh. "I'm on the way back from Covina," he told her. "I just dropped Becky off."

"Oookay," Sarah said slowly. "So here's the deal. I… kind of got arrested. I can't get in touch with Casey or your sister."

Chuck didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, though, it wasn't what Sarah was expecting. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, the simple question making her suddenly feel very tired and upset. "I was just speeding. I'm… uh, I'm at the West Los Angeles Precinct, at Santa Monica Boulevard and Butler Avenue. They set my bail at five thousand dollars. Um, there's an American Express card in your name at my hotel –"

"Don't worry about it, Sarah. I've got you covered. I'll be there as soon as I can."

As Sarah hung up the phone, tears filled her eyes. Casey was right. Chuck clearly did still care about her, and she was shutting him out.

Forty minutes later, an officer came and retrieved her from her cell. He took her out to the lobby, where Chuck was waiting. He was still dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing earlier that night. He didn't say anything when she came out, just turned to walk out the door, and indicated that she should follow him.

He still hadn't said anything when they reached the parking lot, but Sarah couldn't take the silence. "Chuck…"

Chuck turned to face her. "I am so sorry about earlier," she said. "I was completely out of line."

He grimaced. "Yeah," he said nodding. "Yeah, you were."

Sarah looked down at the parking lot. "Are… are you and Becky okay?"

She looked back up. He smiled slightly. "Yeah, we're okay. Are you okay?"

Sarah started to nod, but her composure cracked, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. Chuck's expression changed to one of concern, and he quickly crossed the distance between them. "Hey, it's alright," he said softly, embracing her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his back.

"I'm so sorry," she choked out. "You're the best friend I've had in years and I've practically ruined our friendship."

"It's not all your fault," Chuck said in a soothing tone. "I'm partly to blame too."

Sarah turned her head to look up at him, and she shook her head. "It's not your fault, though, Chuck," she whispered. "I was holding you back."

His face changed, and he looked – not hurt, not confused, not sad, but somewhere in between those three. "Maybe… I needed to be held back."

Sarah's eyes widened. Did he even realize what he was saying?

Before he could get a grasp on it, though, a deeper instinct kicked her into action. Pushing herself up on her toes a little, Sarah slid a hand up behind Chuck's head and pulled him to her, kissing him.

Chuck froze for a moment, shocked at what she was doing. _This is wrong,_ a voice in his head told him. _This is SO wrong_.

But he closed his eyes and shut out the little voice. Relaxing, he let himself get into the kiss, pulling Sarah close to him.

* * *

Eight hours later, Chuck woke up with the morning sunlight. He smiled as his eyes opened. He loved waking up with that head of blonde hair resting on his chest –

Wait a second. Wrong head of blonde hair! What the hell?!

The night before came rushing back to him as Sarah began to stir. A kiss in the police station parking lot had led to making out in the car had led to winding up back here, at Sarah's hotel.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. "Good morning, stranger," she whispered with a smile.

Chuck didn't smile, though. "Oh, shit."


	7. Sisters, Mothers, and Friends

Chuck woke up with the morning sunlight. He smiled as his eyes opened. He loved waking up with that head of blonde hair resting on his chest –

Wait a second. Wrong head of blonde hair! What the hell?!

The night before came rushing back to him as Sarah began to stir. A kiss in the police station parking lot had led to making out in the car had led to winding up back here, at Sarah's hotel.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. "Good morning, stranger," she whispered with a smile.

Chuck didn't smile, though. "Oh, shit."

Sarah's expression changed quickly to one of displeasure, and Chuck could feel her body stiffen. "'Oh, shit' is not usually the reaction I get," she remarked sardonically.

Chuck sighed and brought his hands to his face. "It's not you, Sarah," he breathed. "But this was a mistake. A huge mistake."

Sarah laughed bitterly. "So, I was a mistake? Is that what you're saying?"

Chuck pulled his hands away from his face and looked at Sarah as if she were speaking Esperanto. "Did you not hear what I JUST SAID?" he asked angrily. "I SAID that it wasn't about you! But do you understand that I just CHEATED ON MY GIRLFRIEND?!"

Sarah seemed to almost shrink away in response to Chuck's outburst. She rolled off of him to the other side of the bed, leaving him feeling cold. She pulled the covers tightly around herself, and to Chuck's dismay, he looked over to see tears beginning to build in her eyes.

"So," she said, her voice tight and controlled. "Last night didn't really mean anything to you, then."

Chuck sighed in exasperation. "Of COURSE it meant something to me," he snapped. "Everything I've ever done with you has meant something to me, Sarah! I mean, you came into my life a year ago and showed me how to live again! When I'm with you – like, for example, LAST NIGHT – it seems like everything is right with the world, like it's just you and me, and nobody else matters."

He took a breath. "But I can't, I just CANNOT cheat on my girlfriend for the sake of escaping the world for a few minutes. That's not who I am, and I know you know that."

"Yeah," Sarah breathed, her voice breaking. "I know. I know who you are. That's why I fell in love with you."

Chuck just lay there, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. Beside him, he could hear Sarah begin to cry softly. He laughed to himself about the implicit irony – if they had a mission briefing later that day, she would be the stone cold CIA operative. No outer sign of any internal turmoil.

But as she lay here in bed with her asset, the one person she was supposed to protect above all else, she allowed her walls to fall, allowed Chuck to see the source of her inner turmoil and hurt – Chuck himself.

He sighed, and rolled on his side to look at her. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out a hand to brush the tears from her cheek. "Listen. There's nothing I want to do more right now than reach over there and hug you, and tell you everything's going to be alright. But… I can't do that."

She turned her head to face him, her eyes red, her voice plaintive when she spoke. "Why not?"

Chuck allowed himself a small grin. "Because I'm naked, and so are you, and that could lead to… well, you know what it could lead to."

Sarah finally smiled. "So, if we get dressed, then you'll hug me?"

Chuck smiled back. "You bet."

* * *

Half an hour later, Chuck slowly opened the door of the apartment. Devin's car wasn't in the parking lot, but Ellie's was, and Chuck was fervently hoping that she was still asleep.

The aroma of coffee filled the apartment, but Devin would've made a pot before leaving for work. The apartment itself was still quiet, so Chuck thought he might get off lucky –

"Morning, jackass."

Chuck deflated as he heard his sister's voice. He turned toward the kitchen, to see Ellie staring at him over the L.A. Times, a look of disappointment in her eyes. "Ellie, this isn't what it looks like."

She dropped the newspaper in her lap and set her cup of coffee on the table. "Boy, I hope that's true, because what it looks like is my little brother coming home from an illicit night of sex with his ex-girlfriend."

"Ellie –"

"Chuck, you CALLED me on the way back from Covina to tell me – what was it, again? That you were going to go bail SARAH out of jail? And then, you don't come home at all last night?!" Ellie sighed in frustration. "Exactly what am I supposed to think about that?!"

"Maybe you could trust me!" Chuck shot back, anger rising in his voice. "I might be your little brother, but I'm twenty-seven years old, for God's sake! I am old enough to handle my own shit!"

"Well, GOOD FOR YOU," Ellie scowled, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Here's the thing, Chucko. You might be a little more convincing if you didn't LOOK like you'd been having sex all night, and if the smell of Sarah's perfume hadn't come wafting in the door with you!"

Chuck narrowed his eyes, and lifted his arm to his nose. "Sarah's perfume didn't come in the door with me!" he said angrily. "It's not like she wears Eau de Skank!"

"I'm not saying she does, Chuck," Ellie growled. "She's not the one who's whoring around here. That would be YOU."

"Excuse me?!" Chuck snapped, raising an eyebrow. "Did you just call me a man whore?"

"If the shoe fits, Chuck!" Ellie stood up and approached her little brother. "You have a girlfriend who is a very nice girl who I happen to approve of. You have a best friend who is ALSO a very nice girl who I happen to be good friends with as well. When you cheat on the girlfriend with the best friend, it pisses ME off, because THEY'RE both gonna end up hurt, while you end up walking out of this unscathed!"

"Well, thank you so much for summing up my relationship with Becky and with Sarah in such a nice, neat little package," Chuck replied sarcastically. "And exactly what do you recommend I do?"

"Take up a hobby, Chuck," his sister shot back, equally sarcastic. "Anything to keep you occupied and keep your pants zipped."

Chuck sighed loudly. "Fine, Saint Eleanor," he grumbled. "I have work. I'm gonna go take a shower, and then I'll get my sinful ass out of your apartment."

"Chuck, goddammit –" But Ellie was cut off as he stomped to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. "For Christ's sake."

* * *

Three hours later, Chuck leaned against the Nerd Herd counter. His head hurt, and he was bored. The recession had nailed the electronics industry, and Chuck more often than not had practically nothing to do.

From the moment he had stepped into the store, he'd been trying to avoid John Casey. It was no use, though. Every time he turned around, there Casey was, staring at him with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. The bastard had clearly heard every word that had been exchanged at Chuck and Ellie's apartment.

Just before lunchtime, Chuck was back in the stock room making room for an inbound shipment, when he heard somebody clear his throat. He turned around – and there was Casey, that smirk still plastered on his face.

"So," the NSA agent said. "Hear you're havin' a problem keepin' it zipped."

Chuck sighed and put a hand to his forehead. "What the hell business is it of yours, Casey?"

Casey shrugged. "I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, Bartowski. Hell, I watched the way Sergeant Matheson laid one on you last night at the restaurant… and then, to think you were able to turn around and tag Agent Walker as well… damned impressive."

Chuck's expression turned stony, and he walked over to Casey. "You remember when I clocked you the other night, Casey?" he growled.

"Naw, I thought my jaw was still sore for no reason."

"You want another?"

Casey's expression turned serious. "Look, all I'm saying is that you need to avoid doing something stupid."

"I think we're beyond that stage, Casey."

"Alright, fine. Something REALLY stupid that will result in you getting hurt. Let's not forget that Walker's an assassin and Matheson's an Army Ranger, alright? They could both easily kill you by sneezing, and I ain't about to be the one stuck answering to the powers that be for that."

Chuck closed his eyes and sighed. "Casey, do me a favor, would you?"

"What's that, Bartowski?"

"Fuck off."

And with that, Chuck shouldered past Casey and out into the hallway. Wrenching open a door, he stormed up a flight of stairs and onto the observation deck.

"Bartowski?" Big Mike asked as Chuck entered the deck. "You never come up here. Always beg off observation duty, say it's too boring."

"It's what security cameras are for, Big Mike," Chuck replied woodenly. Grabbing a chair, he plopped down, staring out onto the sales floor.

"You alright, Bartowski?"

"I'm fine, Big Mike."

Fortunately, Big Mike took the hint and shut up. Chuck just sat there, staring downward.

After about ten minutes, a familiar figure came through the front door of the store. Sarah, dressed in her ridiculous Wienerlicious outfit.

"Damn, that wiener girl is fine," Big Mike whispered. Then he remembered Chuck was on the deck with him. "Sorry…"

Chuck rolled his eyes and waved his boss off. As he watched, Sarah approached Morgan, and spoke to him for a moment. Morgan grew a confused look on his face, and then followed Sarah outside.

_Now what the heck is that all about?_ Chuck wondered. Standing up, he darted down the stairs, out into the store, and across the sales floor. He stepped out the front door – but Sarah and Morgan were nowhere to be seen. In fact, he didn't see anybody out in the parking lot, and save for the sound coming from the nearby I-5 freeway, it was almost silent.

"Weird," Chuck muttered, heading back into the store.

Four hours later, Chuck was coming up on the end of his shift. The store was still extraordinarily slow – Chuck had had exactly two customers come to the Nerd Herd desk all day long. Morgan still hadn't returned to the store.

When the phone rang at 4:30, Chuck almost did a little dance of joy. Something to do!

"Thank you for calling Buy More, you've reached the Nerd Herd counter, my name is Chuck, computer specialist on call, how may I assist you?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then Morgan burst out laughing. "Dude, I have ALWAYS wanted to hear that over the phone," he said.

Chuck shook his head. "Perhaps getting a life would be in order," he sighed.

"Yeah, whatever," Morgan replied. "Dude, when you get off, can you do me a favor?"

"What do you need, Morgan?"

"Punch me out and then come by my mom's house," Morgan told him.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want, buddy."

And so, at 5:00, Chuck walked to the back room, punched both himself and Morgan out on the timeclock, left the store, and got in the Herder. Departing Empire Plaza, he headed south, into Glendale.

Ten minutes later, Chuck pulled up in front of the Grimes family's home in Glendale. Sarah and Ellie were sitting on the front porch swing, with Morgan in between them. Chuck's first thought was _Oh, joy_; his second thought was _Morgan must think he's died and gone to heaven_.

Steeling himself, Chuck opened the door of the Herder and stood up. Closing the car door behind him, he headed toward the front of the house. Sarah stood as he approached and clasped her hands together. She looked a little nervous.

"Hi, Chuck," she said quietly.

"Hey," he replied. "What's up?"

"So, listen," she sighed. "Last night… last night was great. But it was also wrong. Ellie and I have talked a lot today. I guess she suggested you get a hobby?"

"I'm pretty sure that was a sarcastic remark on her part," Chuck said. "But, go on."

Sarah nodded. "Well, I don't think it's a bad plan. You know, it'll keep you from having free time to get into trouble with me. You see, as much as I wish last night could happen every night… it's just gonna lead to one or both of us getting hurt."

Chuck sighed. "Yeah. So, what's the idea?"

"Watch this," Morgan interjected, rising from the porch swing. He hit the button on what looked like a garage door remote. And sure enough, it WAS a garage door remote, because a moment later, the door on his mother's garage began to scroll open.

There, inside the garage, parked next to Morgan's mom's Nissan, was what looked like a beat-up old muscle car. But not just any beat-up old muscle car.

"Holy crap," Chuck breathed as it came completely into view. "That's a 1970 Dodge Challenger SRT-8!"

"Hemi engine and all," Sarah said. "It cost me five thousand dollars."

_Five thousand dollars_. Exactly how much Chuck had paid to bail Sarah out the night before.

"Sarah," he said, turning to her. "You didn't really –"

She nodded her head. "Yes, I did. This is yours. It needs some work, but Ellie said that Devin's pretty experienced with restoring muscle cars, and I know that Casey would jump at the chance."

"And Mom said you can keep it here," Morgan added. "She's okay with you working on it in the garage – you just have to make sure to tell her that you're here."

Chuck smiled. "Thank you, Sarah," he said. He leaned in to hug her –

"CARLITO!"

"Oh, shit," Chuck whispered. He backed away from Sarah and turned toward Morgan. "Morgan, please tell me you didn't tell your mom about what happened."

Morgan shrugged. "She might've overheard…"

A short Mexican woman in her mid-fifties came storming out of the house, a rolling pin in her hand. "Carlito, you _pincho pendejo_! I can't believe you cheated on your girlfriend!"

Chuck tried to scamper out of the way, but Flora Grimes was too fast. Before Chuck could move, she had him by the ear, causing him to bend over in pain. "Ow! Mama Grimes!"

"You tell me right now that you're never gonna cheat on your girlfriend again, Carlito!"

"I promise! I swear!"

Mrs. Grimes released Chuck's ear. He grimaced in pain, massaging his ear as Sarah, Ellie, and Morgan all looked on, highly amused. "You better not, _mijo_, because if I ever hear about it again, I'll shove my rolling pin straight up your _culo_!"

"Alright!" Chuck gasped. "I'll be good!"

Mrs. Grimes turned from Chuck, and she pointed her rolling pin at Sarah. "And you keep your legs shut, missy."

Sarah's jaw dropped as Flora Grimes stormed back into the house. Chuck looked at the ground, trying not to laugh. Morgan and Ellie were both trying not to smile and failing miserably.

That's when Devin's car pulled up to the curb. "Hey, awesome people!" he boomed, jumping out of the car. "What'd I miss?"

Sarah looked up, her eyes cold. "NOTHING."


	8. Green Zone Haunting

And so it was that Chuck and Sarah came to an accord.

They agreed that it would be for the best if they just tried to forget about the night that Sarah got arrested. As memorable a night as it had been, Chuck knew that Becky would be hurt beyond measure if she ever found out, and Sarah didn't want to have that on her conscience.

Ellie, Morgan, and Morgan's mom were the only other people who knew what had happened. They all agreed to forget about it as well – though Flora Grimes had threatened both Chuck and Sarah with bodily harm should it happen again.

"The crazy thing is," Sarah admitted at the time, "I'm a trained deep-cover CIA operative, I can kill a man in over a hundred different ways, and I'm still a little bit scared of Mrs. Grimes."

Ellie was right about Chuck having a hobby. The beat-up Dodge Challenger sitting in the Grimes family garage took up nearly all of his free time. Basically, what it boiled down to was if Chuck wasn't at the Buy More or with Becky, he was working on the Beast, as he was calling the nearly forty year-old Moparmobile.

It turned out that Chuck had a real knack for auto mechanics, which given how quickly he picked up on anything technical, surprised precisely nobody. Nonetheless, Devin and Casey never passed up an opportunity to work on the car themselves, and even Sarah helped out with it from time to time. When Chuck asked Sarah where she learned everything she knew about cars, she sort of hemmed and hawed about it being in her past.

Sarah didn't think Chuck needed to know about the felonious activities of Kelly Lisa Fordham. Ever.

Chuck and Sarah were finally able to move their relationship to a place of just being friends – something that they had been spectacularly unsuccessful at since day one. They didn't really understand what brought about the change in dynamic – they just knew that they were finally at ease with each other as just friends.

Becky wasn't particularly happy about Chuck having a so-called "best friend" who looked like Sarah Walker. She was even less happy about the fact that it was the woman whom she had nearly thrown down with at the restaurant in Beverly Hills. However, she recognized how much Sarah meant to Chuck, and so reluctantly held her tongue.

That was the beginning of something of an invisible game of tug-of-war. Becky was unhappy about Chuck's friendship with Sarah, but as Chuck spent more and more time with Becky, Sarah became more and more unhappy herself. She never said a word to Chuck, but it was more and more painful to see him so happy with Becky when she herself had never been able to make him that happy.

Chuck remained blissfully unaware of everything going on around him. When he was with Sarah, everybody could see how happy he was to have such a fantastic friend. When he was with Becky, everybody could see pretty clearly that he was falling in love. And when he was with the Beast, he became the biggest über-nerd ever seen.

Over the two months after Chuck and Sarah's little mishap, the Beast slowly took shape. The four hundred fifty-four cubic inch Hemi engine was completely dismantled. Every single part was cleaned and worked on if necessary. The engine block was then painstakingly reassembled. The entire front end of the car was reworked to make it as efficient and powerful as possible. Of course, the efficiency was completely sacrificed when Devin and Casey talked Chuck into mounting quad Holley carburetors on the engine – "But hey," Casey had told him, "you'll blow Walker's dinky little Porsche right off the road with this thing."

Chuck and Morgan had gone into something of a geek-spaz mode with the interior of the Challenger. They set up the dashboard so that everything could be controlled by the original analog systems and gauges. However, Chuck also built a completely digitized system, using a heads-up display, that could be turned on and off at will. He wired it into the car's climate control and entertainment systems, and used a MacBook to control the entire thing. "It's a friggin' Bond-mobile!" he exclaimed, when Ellie asked if it was necessary.

By Halloween, the Challenger was almost complete. All that remained was to install the bright yellow leather seats, install the matching ceiling, and paint the exterior jet black. It still looked like a junker – but as everybody who had worked on the car knew, appearances could be deceiving.

* * *

Friday, October 31st, dawned bright. The day of Ellie Bartowski's world-famous Halloween party was always a day of hectic activity. Whether it was Morgan getting the Shai-Hulud costume cleaned, or Ellie and Devin trying to figure out how to top last year's Adam and Eve costumes, or Chuck trying to keep the employees of the Buy More in line, it was insane.

Sarah Walker, for one, was going low-key. Her costume was that of Fox, Angelina Jolie's character from _Wanted_. Granted, the character wasn't much of a stretch for her, but dropping out of sight for the last two days to have the necessary henna tattoos applied to truly complete the image had been a bit of a commitment. She had considered actually getting a tattoo for a split second – and then decided against it.

She was waiting till the last moment to put the hair dye in to temporarily turn her into a brunette, because it wasn't supposed to last very long, and she didn't want it to start wearing off too soon. Either way, though, she expected her costume to make a bit of a splash.

* * *

"Holy crap, dude!"

Chuck turned his head. "What's up, Morgan?"

"You are not gonna BELIEVE what Sarah's wearing!"

Chuck could believe anything after Sarah turned up as slave Princess Leia last year. Nonetheless, he maneuvered the sandworm around until he could see Sarah –

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. "Morgan, I'll be right back, okay?"

"Ten-four, Chuck."

Chuck pushed off the head of the Shai-Hulud costume, and crossed the courtyard toward Sarah. "Of all the people you had to come as…" He left the greeting dangling as he approached her.

Sarah turned toward him, and started laughing. "You just HAD to be Wesley Gibson, didn't you?"

Chuck shrugged. "I REALLY wasn't expecting you to come as Fox," he replied. "But I think that the parallels there are kinda funny."

Sarah nodded. "The trained assassin and the geek who took on a bigger life?"

"NERD," Chuck corrected her crossly. "You've known me how long now and you still call me a geek?"

Sarah laughed. "Whatever, you gigantic dork."

"I'm not a dork," Chuck grumped. "I'm a NERD."

"Yes, yes you are," came a voice from behind him. Chuck felt a hand on his upper arm, and turned to see Becky standing there. "And you're my nerd, too."

Behind Chuck, Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head. Chuck looked at Becky. "You're in… uniform," he said, confused. And so she was. Becky was dressed in her class A dress uniform, complete with the Ranger flash on her beret. "Why are you in uniform?"

Becky's smile disappeared, and she sighed. "I've been recalled, Chuck," she told him.

Chuck's eyes widened. "You've been out for two years!" he objected. "They can't do that, can they?"

She shrugged. "I'm still inactive reserve, and with the way things are going in the Middle East, it's basically everyone on deck."

Chuck put a hand on his forehead. "Oh, man, this can't be happening!" he groaned. "There's no way – you can't go to Iraq – I don't know wh-"

"Oh, for God's sake," Becky cut him off, laughing, and rolling her eyes. "Maybe Sarah was right. I think you ARE a gigantic dork."

Chuck looked confused. "What?"

"This is my COSTUME, loser!" Becky said, poking Chuck in the stomach. "The Army wouldn't recall me unless they were REALLY desperate. Remember my knee?"

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Careful, Chuck, you'll catch flies," Sarah said sarcastically. "I'm gonna go look for Casey."

Chuck gave her a thumbs up, but didn't turn around. "You… suck… so much," he finally breathed to Becky. "I thought that you were gonna be in Tikrit this time next week!"

"Sorry, Chuck, you're not gettin' rid of me that easy," Becky laughed. "Come on. Let's go someplace a little more… secluded."

A goofy grin spread itself across Chuck's face, and he happily followed Becky around the back of the building. Sarah sighed as she watched them go.

* * *

Chuck had Becky pressed up against the wall, right below the Morgan Door. A simple make-out session had led to both parties somehow finding themselves naked from the waist up, save for Chuck's necktie and Becky's bra.

"Okay, okay," Becky breathed, her words coming between gasps. "Chuck, you're gonna have to do one of two things here."

"Oh yeah?" he whispered back, his breath tickling her neck. "What are those?"

"Either stop, so we can go back to the party, or fuck my brains out."

Chuck's eyes widened. Not that they hadn't had sex a number of times, but Becky had never put it in quite those terms before. "Uh, there's people in the apartment, Becky… I don't know if that's such a go-"

"Not in the apartment, Chuck. Right here."

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Uh, okay," he breathed. "I, uh, I'll be right back."

Reaching up, he wrenched open the Morgan Door, and boosted himself up and into his bathroom. "Hurry up, Chuck!" he heard Becky gasp behind him. "I might have to start without you!"

Chuck dashed across the room to his desk and wrenched open a drawer. Pencils, notepad, TI-83 calculator – "For God's sake, there's gotta be a condom in here somewhere," he muttered. And yep – there, underneath the calculator, was a condom, in a wrapper that appeared to be intact – "Good through June of 2009," he read. "Excellent."

He ran back across the room, and was about to climb back out, when he heard a Russian-accented voice say, "Rebecca Matheson?"

_What the hell?_ Chuck thought. Kneeling down, he peeked out the window, looking down.

"Uh… yeah?" she replied.

"I am Roman Novikov. Do you know who I am?"

"You are… apparently Roman Novikov," she replied with a nervous laugh. "Aside from that, no…"

"I am a rather powerful man in Los Angeles, Sergeant Matheson," Novikov replied. _What is going on?_ Chuck thought. "You were assigned to the Green Zone in 2005, were you not?"

"How do you know that?" There was a distinct mix of anger and fear in Becky's voice.

"I know many things, Sergeant Matheson. Did you execute a man by the name of Faroud al-Wahadi?"

Silence – and then, Chuck heard the distinctive noise of the hammer of a revolver being drawn back. He peered out a little further – and yep, this Novikov character had a gun pointed at Becky's gut.

"I'll ask you again, Sergeant Matheson. Did you execute Faroud al-Wahadi?"

"Yes," she forced out. "He killed two families in cold blood. We didn't have the capability to arrest him and take him back to our HQ. Therefore, I executed him. It's war, it happens."

"You made a very large mistake, Sergeant Matheson," Novikov said. "Faroud al-Wahadi was actually Pyotr Ivanov, an undercover agent of the FSB, and a friend of mine."

Chuck heard a sharp intake of breath below. _Please, God, protect Becky_, he thought. "What are you going to do to me?"

"You're going to come with me, Sergeant Matheson," Novikov replied.

"Oh, really?"

Without warning, Chuck heard the sound of a TASER being activated. A moment later, he heard Becky slump to the ground. "Yes, really."

Chuck didn't think. He sprang up from where he was kneeling. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted at Novikov.

Novikov looked up, startled. His gun followed his gaze. Chuck dove for the floor as Novikov fired. "Fuck!" Chuck yelled.

Novikov fired two more shots into Chuck's room. Chuck stayed on the floor. He counted to thirty after the final shot, and then jumped up.

Becky and Novikov were both gone. Chuck clambered out the Morgan Door, and looked around – there, in the alley, Becky was being loaded into a black Chevy van. Chuck ran toward it, but the door slammed shut, and it drove off.

Chuck hit the end of the building and turned the corner, keeping the van in his sight. It roared down the street, past the courtyard. Chuck ran through the courtyard, straight through the middle of the partygoers.

Despite his now shaking hands, he managed to get the key into the lock on the Challenger's driver door. He wrenched the door open, dove in, and started the old Dodge. The Hemi engine roared to life. Chuck pulled out of his parking spot, and laid rubber down the street as he roared off after the van.

Sarah and Casey, both standing by the courtyard fountain, looked at each other in alarm. "What the hell was that all about?" Casey asked.

But he was asking thin air, because Sarah had already taken off running for her Porsche.

* * *

The van turned off of Laveta Terrace onto Sunset Boulevard at much too high a speed, but it was pretty clear that the driver knew what he was doing. Chuck followed suit, the back end of the Challenger fishtailing hugely as he turned left onto Sunset.

The black van was far enough in front of the Challenger that Chuck was pretty sure he hadn't made his presence known yet. Keeping a few cars back, he watched as the van turned left onto Elysian Park Avenue. The light turned red as Chuck approached the intersection, but he blew straight through it, following the van.

The horns of angry drivers faded behind Chuck. "Nowhere to go at the end of this street but Dodger Stadium," he said with a grim smile.

But that didn't slow the driver of the van. He turned right onto Stadium Way – and Chuck knew that he was screwed. "If I follow him, he's gonna know I'm back here," Chuck breathed. "DAMMIT!"

He didn't have a choice, though. At least not in his own mind. Becky had been kidnapped, and she was in that van. Chuck had to get her back.

And so, he punched the gas. The Challenger roared forward, and whipped around the corner onto Stadium Way. He quickly closed the distance between the two vehicles, tapping the rear bumper.

The van shot ahead, rocking from side to side. Chuck backed the Challenger off a bit, and then repeated the maneuver. "You gotta slow down!" he shouted at the van. "Road curves ahead!"

Stadium Way took an almost ninety-degree turn just a little further down the road. Chuck knew that the van would have to slow, and that's when he would disable them. He had no idea what he was going to do after that, but he knew that he could figure SOMETHING out.

He moved over to the left of the van, positioning himself to clip its front end when it slowed and began to turn. His plan went directly in the toilet, though, when the back door of the van flew open.

The shotgun that the thug was holding looked about as big as a field artillery piece. "SHIT!" Chuck shouted, slamming on the brakes.

The shotgun fired, discharging into Chuck's right front wheel. The tire shredded, and the Challenger began to swerve from side to side.

Chuck jerked the wheel in the opposite direction of his skid, hauling up on the emergency brake. The Challenger's back end spun around one hundred eighty degrees, and the Beast came to a rest pointing back the direction Chuck had come from.

He jumped out of the car just in time to watch the van disappear around the corner. "FUCK!" he roared. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"

Chuck slammed his fists on the top of the Challenger – and suddenly, the adrenaline disappeared and his strength went with it. His body slumped against the car, his forehead coming to a rest on its roof. The tears began to fall from his eyes.

He was only vaguely aware of the headlights coming down the road. Sarah's Porsche rolled to a stop, nose to nose with the Challenger, and she jumped out.

"Chuck!" she shouted, her heart in her throat at seeing the mangled right front quarter of the Challenger. "Are you okay?!"

Chuck lifted his head and turned to face her. His face was white, his eyes red. "They took her, Sarah," he rasped. "They took Becky."

"Oh, Chuck," Sarah whispered. "Oh, no."

She rushed to him, and caught him as he lurched forward, off of the Challenger. She wrapped her arms around him as he began to cry, sobs coming in great heaves. "I'm sorry, Chuck," Sarah breathed, fighting back her own tears. "I'm so, so sorry…"


	9. Terror of Colorado Boulevard

Sarah Walker fired up the Porsche, backing it out of its parking space at much too high a speed. She jammed the gearshift into first, laying rubber as she took off down the street, the taillights of Chuck's Dodge barely in sight.

She was a good two blocks behind Chuck when she roared out into Sunset Boulevard. The sounds of squealing tires, and much to her chagrin, colliding cars filled her ears, but she remained focused on the wide taillights of the old muscle car four hundred yards ahead of her.

As Sarah watched Chuck's car sweep eastbound onto Elysian Park Avenue, she realized that he was following a black Chevy van. She had no idea why he was following it, but knowing Chuck, she knew that he had to have a damn good reason.

_He must've flashed on something_, she thought. But what could've been so huge that he would just take off in pursuit on his own without telling her or Casey first?

Right at the moment, that was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered right at the moment was keeping that Challenger in sight and making sure Chuck didn't get himself killed.

Just as Sarah turned onto Elysian Park, she saw Chuck's car skid through a right turn onto Stadium Way. She punched the gas and seconds later whipped around the same corner herself, her Porsche handling the turn with much more grace and ease than Chuck's land yacht.

As she came around the corner, though, Sarah's breath abandoned her. Clearly illuminated in Chuck's headlights, she watched the back door of the black van swing open, and a man in the back aim a shotgun at the front end of the Dodge. Chuck's brake lights lit up as the Challenger rapidly decelerated, but the gout of flame that erupted from the barrel of the shotgun was no less deadly.

Sarah could see pieces of rubber go flying as the muscle car's right front tire was torn apart, and then Chuck began to skid. Sarah's eyes went wide as his tail end whipped around through a hundred-eighty degree turn, but she released her breath in relief as the car came safely to a stop.

As she brought her Porsche to a stop, nose to nose with Chuck's car, she watched him get up out of the car, slam his fist against the roof, and then slump against its side. Concerned, Sarah practically leapt out of her Porsche. "Chuck!" she shouted, taking in the damage to the Challenger and wondering how Chuck had kept control of the car. "Are you okay?!"

He lifted his head and turned to face her. His face was white, his eyes red, and to Sarah, he looked like he'd seen the end of the world. "They took her, Sarah," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "They took Becky."

"Oh, Chuck," Sarah breathed, a sense of dread filling her. "Oh, no."

He tried to stand, to move away from the Challenger, but he seemed to have no strength. Sarah rushed to Chuck, grabbing him before he could fall. She wrapped her arms around him, and she could feel him beginning to cry, sobs bursting forth from him. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she whispered, fighting unsuccessfully to keep her own tears from falling. "I'm so, so sorry."

She held him for a moment longer, and then a thought occurred to her. "Cell phone," she breathed. "Chuck!"

"Yeah?" he mumbled. His face was still pressed against Sarah's shoulder, his voice muffled.

"Did Becky have her cell phone still?"

He backed away, looking confused. "I think so…"

Sarah pulled out her own phone, and dialed quickly. A moment later, she said, "This is Agent Walker, victor four six one alpha two five. I need a trace on…"

She looked up at Chuck. "What's the number?"

He reached out and took the phone. "The number is 626-555-9910," he said, and then handed the phone back to Sarah.

"Got that?" she asked. She listened for a moment. "Okay, it's on the Pasadena Freeway, northbound at the I-5 interchange," she told Chuck, hanging up the phone.

"Okay…"

"Chuck, get in the car, and let's go!" Sarah exclaimed.

Chuck's mind finally caught up with what was going on. His eyes widened, and as he comprehended what Sarah was planning to do, he practically dove into the Porsche.

Despite the circumstances, Sarah couldn't help but smile a little. Getting back into the Porsche, she backed it away from the Dodge, and then put it in gear. As she pulled away, she dialed another number, and held the phone to her ear.

"_Casey, secure._"

"Casey, it's Sarah, secure. Listen, we've got a situation. Becky Matheson's been kidnapped –"

"_WHAT?!_"

"Yeah. She's been kidnapped –"

"By a guy named Roman Novikov," Chuck interjected. "I was in my bedroom, she was right outside the Morgan Door, and I heard him tell her who he was."

"Roman Novikov," Sarah told Casey. "Run that name, find out what you come up with."

"_Copy that. Anything else?_"

"The Beast got shot up pretty badly," Sarah said. "I need you to send a tow truck to pick it up – it's on Stadium Way, outside the west side of Dodger Stadium."

Casey was silent for a moment. "Casey?"

"_Exactly why can't you call for a tow truck?_"

"Casey, would you just work with me –"

"_You're going after her, aren't you?_"

"Casey, as you're so fond of reminding me, she's a US Army veteran –"

"_NOT an asset!_" Casey interrupted her. "_You have got to go about this the right way, Sarah. We call LAPD, we let them take the lead._"

"Riiight," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes. "Or how about I have a trace on Becky's cell phone signal, and I'm following the vehicle she's in."

"_You have Bartowski in the car?_"

Sarah didn't say anything.

"_You have Bartowski in the goddamn car?!_" Casey exploded. "_Are you out of your mind?! You can't take the Intersect gallivanting off on a seat-of-your-pants rescue mission when you have NO idea what you're gonna find!_"

"Casey –"

"_Walker, you need to get your ass back here right now. You have the trace, we give it to LAPD, let them and the FBI –_"

Sarah had had enough. She hit the end button on the cell phone. "Casey wants us to let the LAPD handle this," she growled at Chuck.

Chuck breathed deeply, and let his breath back out raggedly. "Maybe… maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea, Sarah," he said softly.

She looked over at him as if he'd just grown a third ear. "What?!"

"Sarah, between us, we've got one handgun," Chuck said. "Did you see the size of that shotgun that took out the Beast?"

"I did," Sarah replied. "But Chuck, listen to me for a moment. If Becky disappears – wait, you heard Novikov introduce himself, did he say why he was taking her?"

Chuck nodded, his face going pale. "She killed a friend of his in Iraq, and he's looking for revenge."

"Okay, that's it then," Sarah stated firmly. "She disappears, you might NEVER get her back. We have to find her."

* * *

Casey stared at his cell phone in disbelief. "No way," he said, shaking his head. There was absolutely no WAY that Walker and Bartowski could just go off after these people in an attempt to get Becky Matheson back.

"She's gonna hate me for this," Casey sighed, dialing a number. "This is Major Casey, bravo three six niner zulu eight seven. I need a trace on 213-555-6969."

He listened for a moment. "Thank you," he said, writing down the coordinates. Hanging up the phone, he dialed another number.

"_Los Angeles Police Department, Homicide Division, this is Lieutenant Davis._"

"Lieutenant Davis, this is Major John Casey, National Security Agency. I understand that you've had dealings with one Mr. Roman Novikov?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, but Lieutenant Davis finally spoke. "_That's correct_," she replied. "_I was investigating him for a homicide, and was told that he was a federal asset, and therefore untouchable. Why exactly are you calling me about him?_"

"Lieutenant Davis, we have a serious problem with Mr. Novikov."

* * *

The Pasadena Freeway had turned into the Arroyo Seco Parkway, and now had become a surface street. Sarah had finally caught up to the van, and was now about five car lengths behind.

"Are we just gonna sit here, or are we gonna do something?" Chuck was starting to get a little anxious, and while Sarah could understand that, it was starting to get on her nerves a little.

"Calm down, Chuck," she sighed. "We're going to follow them wherever they're going, and then we work from there."

Chuck nodded, but his anxiety didn't appear to lessen at all. "Alright," he replied. "I'll trust you on this one."

A small smile touched Sarah's lips. Everything they'd been through, and he still trusted her. "Thank you, Chuck."

The van turned right off of Arroyo Seco onto Colorado Boulevard, and Sarah followed. The van was showing no signs of stopping – it breezed right past the Paseo Colorado mall, down Colorado through the heart of Old Town.

Sarah had just crossed over Hill Avenue and was passing Pasadena City College when the world lit up like it was daytime. Sarah squinted and looked up – to see a helicopter hovering above, its spotlight pointed down at them.

"What the hell is this?!" Sarah said out loud, as the lights of several police cars snapped on behind them.

"_Agent Walker, pull over and exit the vehicle!_"

The voice coming from the helicopter's loudspeaker made Sarah grit her teeth in anger and grip the steering wheel till her knuckles turned white. John fucking Casey. That rat bastard.

That's when Sarah decided to do something she hadn't done since she was a teenager.

Run from the police.

"Chuck, are you buckled?"

"Yeah, why –"

Sarah rapidly downshifted from sixth gear, through fifth, and into fourth, punching the gas as she did so. The Porsche leapt ahead, cutting the distance between them and the black van rapidly, putting a fair amount of distance between them and the police cruisers, and temporarily losing the spotlight of the helicopter.

Unfortunately, a Porsche on the city streets is no match for a helicopter. The spotlight rapidly tagged the car again, and the helicopter accelerated, pulling in front of Sarah, and then dropping rapidly toward the street. It landed in the middle of the eastbound lanes of Colorado, causing Sarah to stand on the brake and the clutch to keep from plowing into the aircraft.

Sarah shifted the Porsche into reverse, and looked over her shoulder – but two LAPD cruisers and a Pasadena PD SUV formed a very effective roadblock across the street. "Crap," Sarah sighed. She moved the gearshift to neutral, engaged the handbrake, and turned the Porsche off.

She looked over at Chuck. He looked tired, beaten, and defeated, as he just stared at the dashboard. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level.

He swallowed, and said, "Thank you for trying," his voice numb and lifeless.

A very angry looking John Casey dismounted from the helicopter, and stormed toward the Porsche. The look of rage on his face was like nothing Sarah had ever seen. She looked over at Chuck again – but he wasn't looking at Casey. Rather, his eyes were fixed on a point down the street, where the black van was disappearing around a corner.

_Son of a bitch_, Sarah thought angrily. Pushing open the driver's door of the Porsche, she stepped out, and before Casey could get one word out, she was in his face. "We could've CAUGHT that van, Casey!" she shouted at him. "Did you not notice how close I was?! We could've found out where they were going!"

"That would've been a very bad idea, Agent Walker," came a voice from behind Sarah. The voice was familiar – not a voice she knew well, but one she recognized.

She turned around. "Detective Crews," she said, her anger barely contained in her voice. "Funny to see you here."

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing," he replied. "Sarah Walker, this is my partner, Detective Dani Reese. Reese, Walker."

Sarah barely acknowledged the woman standing next to Crews. "What the hell is this all about, exactly?" she spat out. "You want to tell me why exactly the four horsemen just came riding down Colorado Boulevard to stop me from taking down a kidnapper?!"

Charlie Crews sighed and scratched his head. "It's a, shall we say, complicated situation, Agent Walker," he replied. "Can you get Mr. Bartowski out here?"

Sarah almost laughed in disbelief. "Ridiculous," she grumbled, shaking her head, but she still bent down and looked into the car. "Chuck, can you come out here a minute?"

He nodded, his face still pale. Opening the shotgun door, he stepped out of the Porsche. Crews walked around the back end. "Charles Bartowski?"

Chuck nodded again, saying nothing. "Detective Charlie Crews, LAPD," Crews said. "Listen, I'm sorry about what's happened, and we're gonna do everything we can to get Ms. Matheson back, but there's something I have to tell you about."

"What?" Chuck replied, his voice still sounding lifeless. "There's a reason why the LAPD doesn't want me to get my girlfriend back from a kidnapper?"

Crews made a face and looked down at the street. "It's complic-"

"Don't you dare," Chuck snapped, a little anger finding its way into his voice. "I've been told that things are 'complicated' more times in the last thirteen months than I can even begin to count, so don't you FUCKING dare tell me that my girlfriend's kidnapping is 'complicated'."

Charlie looked up, a look of surprise on his face. It was clear that he wasn't used to civilians talking to him that way. "Mr. Bartowski –"

"Straight answers, Detective Crews," Chuck growled. Sarah realized the color was beginning to return to his face. "You give me straight answers, or I go after this Novikov on my own, and the LAPD can go fuck itself."

Now Crews was beginning to look angry. "Straight answers?" he asked. "Fine. Here's a straight answer for you. A year ago, Detective Reese and I were working on a case where Mr. Novikov tossed a young woman out a fifteenth story window. She fell to her death on the street below. We were all ready for an indictment."

He smiled grimly. "Then, one morning, we come in, and Novikov's gone. Turns out he's a national security asset, and the federal government sprang him. That a straight enough answer for you?"

Sarah's eyes widened. She had not been expecting that. "Did you happen to find out what agency he's an asset for?" she asked.

Charlie shook his head, and began to say no, but Dani Reese interrupted him. "Yeah," she replied. "I did a little digging afterward."

Charlie looked at her in surprise. "The hell, Reese?!"

"I was pissed," she shot back. "I wanted answers. Novikov's a CIA asset."

Chuck's jaw dropped, and Sarah felt a rush of blood to her head. She closed her eyes to block everything out for a moment. "God dammit," Chuck breathed.

"Handler," Sarah whispered.

"What?" Reese asked, a confused look on her face.

"Who is Novikov's handler?!" Sarah's eyes snapped open, ablaze with fury.

Reese put a hand to her head. "Um, if I remember correctly…" She narrowed her eyes, thinking for a moment. "I think his name was Graham. Art Graham."


	10. Hawthorne Hideaway

It was just after three in the morning on November 1st. Sarah had been up all night.

Chuck had finally fallen asleep just after 1:30. They'd gotten him home, still in a daze, just before midnight. He had spent the next hour and a half tossing and turning. Sarah could hear him softly crying from where she sat in the living room, and wanted desperately to go comfort him – but somehow, it just felt wrong to even consider it, as if she would be jumping into Becky's place.

At 3:15, Sarah tiredly picked herself up off the couch in the Bartowskis' living room. She was tired, she was still dressed as Fox, and she had a CIA director to confront.

Grabbing the remote control to Ellie and Devon's television, she turned the set on, and then entered a code on the remote. A moment later, the screen went blank, and a "Waiting for Videoconference Connection" indicator appeared in a corner.

The indicator blinked for a few seconds, and then the image of Director Graham's office appeared. His head slid into the image. "Agent Walker?" he asked. "You're up early."

"I had to talk to you as soon as you came into the office, sir," she replied.

His eyes narrowed. "Walker, what's going on?"

She sighed. "Roman Novikov."

Graham's mouth twitched. "Walker, how do you know that name?"

Sarah folded her arms in front of her chest. "He kidnapped Chuck Bartowski's girlfriend, sir."

A look of shock appeared on Graham's face. "What?!"

"Sir, Becky Matheson was assigned to the Green Zone back in 2006. She encountered an individual who had massacred several families, and she executed him. Unfortunately, that individual was an undercover FSB agent who happened to be a friend of Novikov's. Now he's looking for payback."

Graham leaned back and closed his eyes. He took a breath, and then slammed a fist down on his desk. "Shit."

"Sir, as Novikov's handler, I need your permission to track him down and extract Sergeant Matheson."

Graham's eyes reopened, and he shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Sarah's face changed to a look of disbelief. "Are you kidding me?!"

Graham's mouth set in a grim line. "Agent Walker, Mr. Novikov is an invaluable asset in the war on terror. He provides us information on the Russian Mafia that we wouldn't be able to get from anywhere else, and he's given us much of what we need to effectively fight Al Qaeda in Asia."

Sarah shook her head. "So the fact that he kidnapped a decorated war veteran means nothing? He just gets away with it?"

"Walker, I will speak with Mr. Novikov, but you cannot involve yourself with the situation."

Sarah laughed. "This is bullshit," she muttered.

"Excuse me, Agent Walker?!"

"Respectfully, SIR, I said that this is bullshit!" Sarah snapped. Realizing how loudly she was speaking, she lowered her voice. "Since when does a foreign national on American soil take precedence over a US citizen?"

Graham ignored the question. "Is this going to be a problem, Walker?"

Sarah looked back at him, weighing her options. She could either go along with what Graham said, and hopefully the CIA director would be able to talk Novikov into releasing Becky, or she could go rogue, and possibly get herself, Becky, and even Chuck all killed.

"No, sir," she spat in disgust. "No problems."

* * *

"Sarah?"

Her eyes slowly cracked open. She looked around, confused – and then realized she had fallen asleep on the couch in the Bartowskis' living room.

Ellie Bartowski was standing over her, a concerned look on her face. "What time is it?" Sarah croaked.

"It's about 7:30," Ellie replied. "How much sleep did you get?"

"Not nearly enough," Sarah grumbled as she moved into a sitting position. Her entire body was sore – likely the result of not getting nearly enough sleep and having slept on a couch. "Is Chuck awake?"

Ellie nodded. "He left about fifteen minutes ago," she said. "He didn't want to wake you up."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Where'd he go?" Her voice conveyed alarm. She thought, for an irrational moment, that he had gone off to hunt down Roman Novikov and get Becky back on his own.

"He said he was going over to Morgan's mom's place, to work on the Beast," Ellie explained.

Sarah sighed in relief. He wasn't doing anything stupid – yet. "Do you think he'd mind if I went over there?"

Ellie smiled. "Sarah, I think the only thing you should be doing right now is going back to your place and getting some sleep."

Sarah looked at the ground. "I know," she said. "But I would feel… I don't know. I just don't feel right going home and going to sleep when I know that Chuck's girlfriend is being held captive by some crazy Russian."

Ellie's expression changed to one of confusion. "Sarah… no offense, but you're a food service worker. Exactly what could you do?"

_Oops_, Sarah thought, her mind racing. This was why she hated talking to people right after she woke up.

However, she had known that there was no way to keep her real occupation a secret forever. Ellie Bartowski was trustworthy, and… well, good a time as any.

"Ellie," Sarah said, "there's something you need to know about me."

* * *

Chuck and Devin were hard at work on the right front quarter of the Challenger. Even though it took Chuck's mind off of Becky, it still sat there in the back of his mind, and Devin could tell just from looking at his face.

Chuck hadn't spoken a word for the forty minutes that they'd been there, except to occasionally demand a tool. Devin was worried about his state of mind – it was simply unhealthy.

Morgan was sitting near the car, a cup of coffee in his hand, a blank stare on his face. It was clear he did not enjoy being up at this time of morning.

A noise caused them all to look down the street. The noise of the Porsche 911's engine increased as the car got closer. It pulled to a stop in front of the Grimes' house, and Sarah and Ellie stepped out.

Ellie looked over at Chuck with a sad smile on her face, and then crooked a finger at him, indicating that he should come over by the Porsche to talk to her and Sarah. Chuck was confused, but nonetheless stood up from where he sat by the front end of the Challenger, and headed over to them.

"So," Ellie said when he reached them. "Sarah tells me that the two of you have a little secret."

Chuck looked from Ellie to Sarah and back again in confusion. "We do?"

Sarah sighed and looked at the ground. "I had to tell her, Chuck."

And that's when Chuck understood. "So... Ellie knows that -"

"You've been working undercover for the CIA for over a year," Ellie completed. "Sarah told me that you were recruited when you were still at Stanford."

Chuck nodded slowly - none of what Ellie had just said was untrue. While it wasn't the complete truth, it was really as much as she needed to know just at that moment.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Chuck said quietly. "It's just that things had to be kept quiet.."

"I understand," Ellie replied with a nod. "I also understand that the two of you went racing off on a fool's errand to try to catch up with a very dangerous man last night." A note of irritation entered her voice as she spoke.

Chuck and Sarah's eyes both widened, and they looked at each other. Clearly Ellie hadn't expressed her irritation to Sarah beforehand, because she appeared as surprised as Chuck.

"Ellie, I'm sorry," Chuck said. "It's just -"

"Foolish and dangerous as hell," Ellie interrupted. Then she softened. "But if it was me, I would hope that Devin would do the same thing."

She was stopped from saying anything further by the ringing of Sarah's cell phone. Sarah looked at the display and was greeted with an "Unknown Number".

"That's not possible," she muttered. "Nobody should have this number whose number I don't have."

Ellie looked at her strangely, taken aback by the almost Seussian quality of Sarah's words. But Sarah wasn't paying attention, instead answering her phone.

"Who is this?" she demanded.

"_Ah, you must be the beautiful Agent Sarah Walker_," a Russian accented voice said.

"Who the hell is this?!"

"_Agent Walker, my name is Roman Novikov_."

Sarah froze. "How the hell did you get this number?!"

"_Let's just say we have a… uh, mutual friend._"

Sarah seethed. She was going to kill Graham. She was going to FUCKING KILL HIM.

"What do you want, Novikov?"

Chuck's eyes widened, and he froze at hearing the name "Novikov." "_I believe I have something you want._"

Sarah's mind immediately went into overdrive. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

Chuck's face went white, and he reached out, grabbing Sarah's phone. "WHERE IS SHE, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT?!"

"_Ah, this must be Mr. Bartowski, yes?_"

"TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"

"_Mr. Bartowski, no need to shout. You will find her in the old JC Penney at the Hawthorne Mall_."

Chuck didn't need to hear any more. He tossed the phone back to Sarah, and took off across the Grimes' front yard at a dead run. "Is that tire back on yet?!"

Devin looked up from behind the fender. "Tire's on, but the fender's not…"

Chuck cut him off by jumping in the Challenger and starting the engine. "CHUCK!" Sarah 

shouted. "DON'T YOU DARE!"

But it was too late. The Beast roared to life, and Chuck took off into the street. "Goddammit!" Sarah growled, running for the Porsche. Jumping in, she brought it to life, and took off after Chuck for the second time in less than twelve hours.

As she drove, Sarah pulled out her phone. She dialed, and jammed the phone against her ear.

"_Crews._"

"Crews, this is Sarah Walker. Novikov apparently just told Chuck where Becky is, and he's going after her."

"_Shit,_" Charlie swore. "_Where are you right now?_"

"We just got on the I-5, headed south," Sarah replied. "I have no idea where we're going – Chuck just jumped in his car without telling me."

"_I-5 where?_"

"Uh… passing Los Feliz Boulevard right now," Sarah said.

"_We'll be on you in five._"

* * *

Chuck had realized quite a while before that not only was Sarah right behind him, but he also appeared to have several LAPD cruisers on his tail. He ignored them.

Right at the moment, his only goal was to get to Hawthorne Boulevard and 120th Street as quickly as possible. That's where Becky was. She was in the old closed down JC Penney in the abandoned mall.

As he flew down the Glenn Anderson Freeway, Chuck began to put the pieces of a puzzle together in his head. Roman Novikov had called SARAH in order to tell them that he was releasing Becky. The only reason he would've released Becky and called Sarah to tell her about it would've been if his handler, Art Graham, had told him to. And the only way that would've happened…

Would have been if Sarah herself had stayed up late, waiting until Graham was in his office, and confronted him, demanding that he make Novikov release Becky.

Chuck shook his head. "Why would she do that?" he muttered to himself. "Why would she go to such an effort to do this?

_Because she's still in love with you_, a little voice in the back of his head said. Chuck shrugged it off. There was no way. They had an agreement. They were just friends. He knew it, she knew it, and it had been that way for nearly two months.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder.

However, that was all irrelevant at the moment, because he was now on Hawthorne Boulevard, and was maybe a block from the old Hawthorne Mall. He could see the Broadway sign still adorning the old department store in the middle of the mall.

Chuck pulled into the parking lot and accelerated toward the mall. It appeared that the main entrance to the old JC Penney was actually open. He brought the Challenger to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and hopped out –

And was almost immediately surrounded by Sarah's Porsche and several LAPD cruisers. The doors to an unmarked black Crown Victoria flew open, and the two detectives from the night before, Charlie Crews and Dani Reese, jumped out.

"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, CHUCK!" Sarah shouted from behind him, as she got out of the car. "It is NOT safe for you to just go barreling in there!"

Chuck sighed. Sarah was right. He turned around to face her. "Okay."

Sarah looked at him as if he'd just said the moon was blue. "Okay?!"

Chuck nodded.

"ALRIGHT!" Sarah shouted. "GO!"

Six uniformed officers in riot gear went storming in through the door of the JC Penney. Chuck could hear them shouting as they went, saying "CLEAR!", but their voices faded as they got further into the store.

After what felt like hours but was in reality only a couple of minutes, Crews' radio crackled to life. "_We've got her, Detective Crews!_" the voice said. Chuck's heart leapt into his throat. "_But we're gonna need a bus – she's pretty badly beat up!_"

Chuck's eyes widened. "Oh, no," he breathed, and before Sarah, Crews, or Reese could stop him, he went charging into the store.

"Oh, hell," Sarah said, and went running after him, Crews and Reese on her tail. Chuck followed the voices of the six officers up to the second floor, into what looked like it used to be the men's department.

And there she was, lying on the floor. She was next to a chair that still had strips of duct tape on it. Chuck dashed over, pushed his way through the police officers, and knelt down next to her.

She had been beaten pretty badly, but Chuck didn't care. Becky Matheson had never looked more beautiful to him than she did just at that moment.

She smiled when she saw him. "Hey, you," she whispered.

"Hey," Chuck said with a smile.

Becky reached up and grabbed Chuck's hand. "Told you I was gonna get started without you, didn't I?"

Chuck couldn't help it. He shook his head and laughed. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright after all.


	11. The Road Less Traveled

The waiting room at the USC-LAC Medical Center was cold. White. Sterile.

A smell of antiseptic hung in the air. It created a clinical air.

Chuck Bartowski had sat in the same place for the last ten hours. He moved only to use the restroom. Coffee, water, food, was brought to him by Ellie, Morgan, and Sarah.

He sat, and waited. Waited for news on how Becky was doing. Her family waited with him – her mother, her brother – hoping, waiting to hear something good.

Six o'clock in the evening on November 1st, and no news yet. Not even twenty-four hours since Becky had been kidnapped – what could have possibly been done to her in the mere eight hours that she had been in captivity?

What could have been done to her that would have kept doctors behind closed doors with her for so very, very long?

Finally, after so very long, a man in blue scrubs emerged through a door, and headed for Becky's mother. She rose, Becky's brother and Chuck rising with her.

"I need to speak with Ms. Matheson's family," the doctor informed them, turning his gaze on Chuck.

"Chuck Bartowski IS family," Becky's mother insisted firmly. "Anything you have to tell us about Becky, you can tell him as well."

"Very well," the doctor replied. "If you'd come with me?"

The three followed him into an unoccupied exam room. As soon as the door was shut, he turned to them – and he looked completely different. Fatigue and regret were written all over his face, the public image no longer necessary.

"When we questioned Becky upon bringing her in," the doctor told them, "she informed us that she had been injected with something – she didn't know what – around four in the morning, nearly four hours before she was found. She said that after that, she was severely beaten for quite some time, but she really didn't know for how long."

He sighed. "Do you know what heparin is?"

Becky's mother and brother looked confused, but Chuck recognized the name of the drug. "It's an anti-coagulant," he replied. "Isn't that what Cedars-Sinai accidentally gave a massive overdose of to Dennis Quaid's twins?"

The doctor nodded. "Exactly," he said. "Which… which is what's been done to Becky."

Mrs. Matheson shook her head. "Wait," she said. "I don't understand."

The doctor looked at the floor. "Becky was given an injection of approximately one hundred times the normal dosage of heparin," he explained. "The beating that she received caused massive internal damage and hemorrhaging.

"If we try to perform surgery to repair the internal injuries, she will bleed out more quickly than we can replace the blood, because of the heparin. If we wait until her blood returns to its normal thickness, the damaged organs will become necrotic and die."

The enormity of the doctor's words sank in, and Chuck found himself sinking into a chair. "What does that mean?" Mrs. Matheson asked, still not comprehending.

"It means that Becky is going to die," Chuck breathed. He felt like his own body was shutting down. He could hear his heart pounding in his head. His vision, his hearing, even his sense of touch – it all seemed suddenly dulled.

Mrs. Matheson's head whipped toward Chuck, and then back toward the doctor. "No – that can't be – no, that can't be!" she shouted. "My daughter! No!"

And with that, she collapsed, her son catching her before she sank to the floor. He supported her the best he could, quickly moving her into a chair.

"How long?" Chuck whispered, his voice absent.

The doctor shook his head. "Two, maybe three hours," he told Chuck. "She's awake, and we've made her as comfortable as we can. I told her about the situation, and she took it surprisingly well."

A faint smile found its way to Chuck's lips. "She would," he whispered. He looked up at the doctor. "Can we see her?"

The doctor nodded. "Absolutely," he said. "But I think she should have a little time with her family first."

* * *

Chuck returned to the lobby in a daze. He watched, but barely absorbed, as Becky's family was escorted down the corridor to go see her.

He wandered back to the chair he had been sitting in for so many hours and collapsed heavily onto its cold, unforgiving vinyl surface. His eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared straight ahead, bidding his mind to not understand, to not accept.

He barely noticed when they sat down on either side of him – Ellie on his left, Sarah on his right. They both realized that something was amiss almost immediately.

"Chuck," Ellie said softly, "what's going on?"

Chuck told himself that if he gave them the clinical details, it would keep his emotions at bay. "Around four o'clock this morning, Becky was given an injection containing nearly one hundred times the ordinary dosage of heparin," he said, his voice dull, like an automaton. "She was then beaten severely, causing massive internal hemorrhaging."

Ellie gasped in horror. Sarah looked at her, not entirely comprehending. "What does that mean, Ellie?"

Ellie stood and indicated that Sarah should step away from Chuck with her for a moment. The CIA agent did so, and Chuck watched through deadened eyes as his sister, the doctor, explained to his friend exactly what the ramifications were.

He watched as Sarah's face displayed a range of emotions – horror, grief, and finally, rage. Her fists clenched, her face turned red. The tall blonde turned and stormed out of the waiting room, through the doors, into the Los Angeles night.

Ellie pursued her, leaving Chuck alone in the waiting room once more. He sat there for a moment, not knowing what to do. Finally, the doctor stepped into the waiting room once more, and indicated that Chuck should join him.

Chuck crossed the waiting room and followed the doctor, down corridors of white paint and antiseptic smell, past myriad beeps and whistles, until they reached a door. It was a plain door, nondescript, but Rebecca Matheson lay on the other side of it.

Dying.

The doctor opened the door. Chuck took a deep breath and stepped in.

* * *

When Ellie caught up to Sarah, she found the CIA agent punching a wall. Repeatedly. In fact, as Ellie watched, tiny sprays of blood began to paint themselves on the wall with each punch.

Finally, when Ellie heard the distinctive sound of a bone in Sarah's hand breaking, she intervened, pulling the younger woman away from the wall before she could hurt herself any worse. "Sarah, you cannot beat yourself up over this," Ellie told her.

Sarah's head whipped around, a look of pure fury in her eyes as she stared down at Chuck's sister. "I could've SAVED HER LIFE!" she growled. "If I had ignored Casey, the police – if I had just gone after her last night, none of this would've happened!"

"You were ordered to stand down," Ellie shot back. "You told me so yourself. You told me that if you went 'off the reservation', you could be killed. What exactly would that have accomplished?"

"Maybe I could've stopped this Novikov bastard!" Sarah raged. "Instead, he's going to get away with a horrible murder. Becky becomes one more casualty of a pointless war, and I have to stand on the sidelines and watch as the man I love is gutted AGAIN because I couldn't save what mattered most to him!"

Ellie shook her head. "You can't do everything, Sarah," she insisted.

"Why the hell not?" Sarah looked Ellie in the eyes, and the look on the CIA agent's face frightened the doctor. "I'm supposedly the best goddamn operative the CIA has seen in fifty years, and I can't save one person?!"

* * *

Chuck took a deep breath as he stepped through the door. This was not going to be easy.

Despite everything, he couldn't help but smile when he saw her. Even though she knew, she had been told, that she only had a few hours to live, she still had a smile on her face, a smile that told him that everything was going to be alright – even if it wasn't.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice breaking on that one simple word. He could already feel the tears beginning to stream down his face.

"And what exactly do you have to be so sad about?" Becky asked him, her voice cheerful on the surface, but clearly sad and drained beneath.

Chuck opened his mouth to reply, but his voice was gone. So instead, he just approached Becky's bed, and as gently as he could, lifted her into his embrace. The feeling of her arms wrapping around his back caused him to break completely.

The tears hit him like a thunderbolt, the sobs causing his body to shake nearly uncontrollably. Becky gently stroked his back, whispering quietly into his ear. After a moment, the sobbing began to subside, and he composed himself.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I should be the one consoling you, not the other way around."

Becky drew back from him and smiled at him sadly. "Oh, Chuck," she said softly. "But, I'm okay with it. I mean, yeah, I never thought I'd die at the age of 24, but after all I managed to get out of in Iraq, I guess death just finally caught up with me."

Chuck looked at her incredulously. "But you're so young!" he sputtered. "You have so much left to do in your life!"

She shrugged. "No, I don't, Chuck. But I've already done so much."

That's when her smile faltered, and tears began to come to her eyes as well. "And I wouldn't trade the last three months for the world."

Chuck spent the next two hours with Becky. Just before nine o'clock, her mother and brother came back into the room.

A moment after they returned, Becky very quietly, very weakly said, "I love you," to Chuck, and then slipped into unconsciousness. Her heart monitor slowed and slowed, until four minutes later, it finally went to a flat line.

Chuck stood over Becky for a moment, just looking down at her. Finally, he bent down, kissed her on the forehead, and whispered, "Good-bye." Then, without a backward glance, he left the room.

He wandered down the hallway, back toward the waiting room. Back to where he would find Ellie and Sarah, back to where he could be safe, kept separate from the world once more.

Tiredly, he pushed open the door from the corridor to the waiting room –

ARTHUR GRAHAM.

Chuck's eyes widened as he saw the CIA director sitting on the other side of the waiting room next to Sarah. His heart began to race, his breath quickening. Chuck could hear his heart pounding in his head, and his vision began to turn red and blurry –

He lowered his head, almost like a bull charging –

He crossed the room rapidly –

He could hear Sarah and Ellie, telling him to stop –

He ignored them –

He grabbed Graham by the lapels of his shirt, and bodily lifted the larger man from his chair –

He slammed Graham against the wall as forcefully as he could –

He punched Graham in the face as hard as he could –

Twice –

Three times –

Ellie dragged him off of Graham, pulling him into a chair –

Sarah pushed Graham back into his chair and warned him not to move –

The two men stared at each other across a few feet of space, restrained only by the two women there with them. Graham glared at Chuck with hatred, but Chuck's stare contained nothing but murderous venom for the director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

"What the hell were you thinking, Chuck?!" Sarah snapped angrily.

"He KILLED her," Chuck growled. "He FUCKING KILLED HER."

"I didn't kill a goddamn person, Bartowski," Graham shot back, struggling against Sarah. Sarah set her mouth in a firm line, lifted her right foot, and brought it down hard on Graham's instep, immediately immobilizing him again.

"If you had let us go after her when we wanted to, she'd still be alive!" Chuck shouted. "She didn't get the heparin overdose until nearly four hours later!"

"Have you ever heard of the concept of national fucking security, Bartowski?!" Graham roared back. "Novikov is more important than one stupid girl!"

Graham couldn't have picked a worse thing to say. Sarah's jaw dropped as she turned to look at him. Without a word, she pulled back her arm, and slammed her fist into Graham's face as hard as she could. She was rewarded with the sickening sound of cartilage popping and cracking as his nose was shattered.

"Agent Walker!" he howled. "I'll see you destroyed for this!"

"Destroy away, sir," she hissed at him. "I quit."


	12. The Big Bad Sarah

**January 15****th****, 2009**

**Parker Center, Downtown Los Angeles**

Another day in Los Angeles, another handful of homicides. At least, that's how Charlie Crews generally looked at it.

Sure, L.A. wasn't the murder bonanza that it once was, but there were still fairly regular 187 calls. The worst part was, every time Charlie heard that code come over the radio, he couldn't help but think about the murders that had landed him in jail thirteen years ago.

Nonetheless. He'd been exonerated, and now his job was to make sure that the victims of murder received justice.

Of course, sometimes things made it hard to concentrate. For example, a tall, statuesque blonde walking across the homicide division floor straight toward Charlie's desk.

"Well, hello Agent Walker," Charlie said, greeting Sarah as she arrived at his desk. "Long time, no see."

She shook her head. "It's not Agent Walker anymore," she replied. "It hasn't been for two and a half months."

"Oh." Charlie looked nonplussed. "Then, uh, Ms. Walker, what can I do for you?"

"Is there someplace we can speak in private?"

Charlie frowned, and looked toward the south side of the room. Interrogation 1 was occupied, as was #2… "Follow me," he said, headed for Interrogation Room #3.

He turned off the recording and monitoring equipment as they entered, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Alright, Sarah, what's going on?" he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

She sighed. "Please tell me you've made progress on Novikov."

Charlie slowly shook his head. "The feds won't let us anywhere near him," he told her. "We even think about him, and we've got Graham breathing down our necks."

"Figures," Sarah grumped, rolling her eyes. "He's always been a stickler for detail."

"Speaking of which, what happened to him?" Charlie asked.

Sarah cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happened to him to make him look like his face had been flattened with a frying pan?"

Sarah allowed herself a small wry smile. "His face got flattened with a Bartowski fist."

A grin began to form on Charlie's face. "Chuck Bartowski punched out the director of the CIA?"

Sarah nodded. "After Becky died," she explained. "He walked out into the waiting room, saw Graham sitting there, charged like a bull, accused him of being responsible for Becky's death, and then proceeded to beat the shit out of him."

Charlie shook his head again. "That's incredible," he said. "Although, I'm surprised Graham didn't file charges."

"Director Graham and I had a little… talk," Sarah replied. "Right after I quit."

* * *

**Two and a half months earlier**

Sarah pulled back her arm, and slammed her fist into Graham's face as hard as she could. She was rewarded with the sickening sound of cartilage popping and cracking as his nose was shattered.

"Agent Walker!" he howled. "I'll see you destroyed for this!"

"Destroy away, sir," she hissed at him. "I quit."

Graham's jaw dropped, and he just stared at her. He looked ridiculous, his eyes bulging in shock, blood flowing from his broken nose. "What do you mean, 'you quit'?" Graham wheezed. "You can't just quit!"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I just did," Sarah shot back.

"A word, Agent Walker?" Graham snarled, holding a hand to his nose and rising to his feet.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'll be right back, Chuck," she said as she followed Graham out of the waiting room.

Chuck didn't reply, he just nodded. The adrenaline was disappearing, the catatonia setting in as Ellie held him in her arms.

Sarah burst through the doors behind Graham. "KELLY FORDHAM," Graham snapped as soon as he saw her.

"Oh, don't you even dare," Sarah shot back. She flexed her left hand, the pain from her broken ring finger shooting through it and focusing her mind with piercing clarity. She looked down at the hand – the blood from her torn up skin was starting to seep through the bandages. They would have to be changed soon.

"You quit, she comes back to life, Walker," Graham growled. "Not only that, but I'm sure the Los Angeles Police Department would love to hear all about that little episode with Mr. Bartowski just now."

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Please, sir," she whined mockingly, her words dripping with sarcasm. "I'm the best goddamn operative the CIA has. You know it. How many times have you yourself said it? I have so many rock-solid identities that I could disappear, and you'd never know where to find me."

Graham laughed bitterly, an unfortunate barking sound emanating from his mouth. "Please. Follow Bartowski, find you."

Sarah shook her head again. "Chuck would disappear with me," she told him. "But I don't think it's gonna come to that, and I'll tell you why."

"Oh, will you," Graham smarmed. "Do enlighten me, Agent Walker."

"One WORD about this, one mention of Kelly Fordham, one hint that the LAPD is interested in Chuck for assault and battery, and the entire world will know that the CIA, and specifically, its director, is harboring a terrorist in Los Angeles who is wanted by the LAPD on multiple counts of murder," Sarah snapped, the last four words very carefully enunciated. "And I don't think that would go very well for you, especially if you're expecting to be a holdover from Bush to the next President."

And that was the magic button. With one sentence to the right reporter, Sarah could destroy Director Graham's career, everything he had worked for. He would be a joke, a laughingstock, a has-been, perhaps even considered a criminal. And if there was one thing that the former juvenile court judge from Phoenix wasn't about to be, it was a has-been.

He stared at her for a long moment, finally lifting his sleeve to wipe the blotch of blood covering his mouth and chin. "Fine, Walker," he spat. "What exactly is your plan?"

Sarah folded her arms and leveled her gaze at Director Graham. "You leave Chuck alone," she replied. "I stay here in Los Angeles, a civilian. I keep watch over Chuck, keep him safe – and you know I will. The NSA leaves Casey here for missions. You don't go after him, you don't go after me, and we'll all be happy."

Graham nodded. "That… is acceptable," he gritted out through clenched teeth. "But if there is one word, Walker, one single word about this incident, your ass is grass."

"My lips are sealed, sir," Sarah deadpanned.

* * *

"So, I've been a civilian since November 1st," Sarah told Charlie. "The only problem is, civilian life is boring. The NSA has kept the bad guys off of Chuck's back pretty well. I've gotten to spend some time with him. However, most of the time, if he's not at work, he's working on the Beast –"

"The Beast?" Charlie asked in amusement.

"His 1970 Dodge Challenger," Sarah explained. "He's almost done with it. Says he might start calling it the SuperBeast."

Charlie shook his head and rolled his eyes, but smiled. He understood.

"Anyway, with all of that, I'm, well, bored," Sarah said.

"You're bored."

Sarah shrugged. "I can only spend so much time at the Glendale PD's shooting range."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "And so that's why you're here?"

Sarah nodded reluctantly. "I was hoping that maybe the LAPD had something that they could use me for."

Charlie brought his hands to his face and steepled them beneath his nose, looking over at the former CIA agent pensively. "Alright, Sarah, let me ask you this. Do you have any experience with law enforcement, with investigation?"

She shook her head. "No. What I do is gather intelligence, and kill people. I do both extremely well. I could probably out-shoot anybody in the LAPD with the possible exception of your SWAT officers, and I can get a confession out of a target with a minimum of resistance."

Charlie smiled slightly. "Yeah, you're definitely an agent," he said. "What you're not is a detective, or an officer."

Sarah's face fell. "But," Charlie continued, "we do have a unit within the force that we keep very quiet. It's off the books, covered under the mayor's discretionary fund. It's called the Special Enforcement Task Force, or as we call it, SET."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Special Enforcement?" she asked. "Meaning…"

"Have you seen _L.A. Confidential_?" Sarah nodded. "It's like the unit that Russell Crowe was part of, except not quite so blatant."

Sarah crossed her arms and looked at Charlie, less than pleased. "So, basically, I'd be a thug and an enforcer."

He shook his head. "Not at all," he rebuked her. "You would be doing exactly what you did in the CIA – gathering intelligence and taking care of problems, just you'll be doing it for the LAPD instead."

Now Sarah's interest was piqued. "Tell me more."

* * *

"IT'S ALIVE!" roared Chuck, as the Challenger's Hemi engine thundered to life. The quad-Holley rumble of the 440 cubic inch engine rolled across the Glendale neighborhood, feeling almost like a minor tremor.

The Beast was finally done. The damage from the shotgun blast on Halloween had long since been repaired. The Dodge's entire body had been sanded, and then painted a glossy jet black. The bright yellow interior had been installed, and the car generally looked, as Devin put it, "badass."

Chuck's original plan had been to rename the car the SuperBeast, but that morning, as they were putting the final touches on it – pinstripes, detail markings – he had decided on something else. And so, he had enlisted Anna Wu to inscribe, in meticulous calligraphy, one simple five letter word on the Challenger's trunk-mounted spoiler.

In the same bright yellow as the interior of the car, the spoiler read simply, "Becky."

Devin, Morgan, Casey, and Ellie could think of no more fitting tribute that Chuck could pay than to put her name on the car he had poured so much of his life into. And now, she was about to roll out onto the streets and wreak havoc.

Devin stepped out of the Challenger. "She's all yours, Chuck," he said. "Tear it up!"

Chuck slid behind the wheel of the Dodge, feeling the rumble of Mopar power. He pulled the door shut, and pressed a button next to the radio.

The heads-up display appeared above the dashboard. "Sweet," Chuck mused with a grin. Right in front of him was all he needed – speed, RPMs, fuel, thermostat, and oil pressure, all without ever looking away from the road.

Ever the nerd, Chuck decided he needed some appropriate driving music. Fortunately, when he and Morgan had had their nerdgasm months beforehand, they had thought it would be a good idea to install Bluetooth controls and voice recognition software on all the systems.

"Ozzy, 'No More Tears'," Chuck instructed the computer. Immediately, the distinctive bass lick began to roll out of the Challenger's sound system. Chuck's grin turned into a feral smile. He popped the transmission into first gear, and pressed the gas.

The Dodge immediately took off, leaving a cloud of smoke and dust behind. Chuck whipped out onto Doran Street, and headed toward Brand Boulevard. A left turn put him southbound on Brand, headed toward Los Angeles.

A few minutes later, he crossed San Fernando Road, and Brand turned into Glendale Boulevard. Chuck flew into Los Angeles going eighty-seven miles per hour.

Chuck was approaching I-5 when he saw a much newer Dodge Challenger roar out onto Glendale behind him. Just like his, it was black, although it looked to be a 2009 model.

And then it turned into a most unwelcome sight as red and blue lights illuminated in the grille and the windshield. "Aw, SHIT," Chuck groaned. "Kill music!"

The stereo system immediately went quiet. Chuck decelerated rapidly, and moved over into the right lane. He took a right onto Glenfeliz Boulevard, and pulled to a stop on the right hand side of the road, the police interceptor stopping behind him.

By the time Chuck heard the officer's footsteps reach his driver's door, his license and registration were in his left hand, hanging out the window, his forehead resting against the steering wheel. That's when he got the shock of a lifetime.

"You know, driving like that can get you killed," Sarah Walker said to him.

Chuck's head jerked backwards, and he turned to look out the window in shock. "SARAH?!"

"Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" she asked him, mock-sternly.

"What the hell?!" Chuck gaped. "Since when are you a cop?!"

She shrugged. "Since today," she replied. "Now, do me a favor, don't drive that fast anymore?"

"Sarah…"

"Chuck," she said, the sternness in her voice real. "You could hurt yourself. You could damage the Intersect. If you do that, the government might decide you're no longer worth the risk."

Chuck sighed as Sarah's words sank in. She was right, as usual. Even if she wasn't a CIA agent any longer, she still knew the Company better than it knew itself. "Alright," he acceded, nodding. "But why are you a cop?"

Sarah smiled, but it was a cold smile. A smile of death. In fact, she made Chuck almost think of the Big Bad Wolf, which was why he almost shuddered when she whispered, "Why, the better to get back at Novikov, Chuck."

Chuck drew in his breath sharply. A million thoughts crossed his mind, but there was only one that really stood out.

_Oh, shit._


	13. The Better Angels of Our Nature

Vladimir Ochoa had led a strange life. Born in Cuba in 1971, his parents had named him after Lenin, and then in 1973, had moved to the glorious Motherland.

Ochoa was recruited by the KGB for his language skills right out of high school, but hadn't even completed training when the Soviet Union fell. He did not make the transition to the FSB. His mentor, Pyotr Ivanov, did make the transition, and recognized Ochoa's skills. He recommended the young man to a friend of his.

That friend went by the name of Roman Novikov. Novikov was an up-and-comer within the Russian Mafia establishment, which absolutely went bananas with the advent of democracy and capitalism within the _Rodina_. Ochoa quickly rose through his ranks, becoming Novikov's right-hand man in 1999.

In January of 2000, however, Novikov found himself a stranger in a strange land. He had been at odds with Vladimir Putin since the end of the Soviet Union, and with Putin taking over as President, Novikov discovered that the friendly confines of Moscow were no longer so friendly. As a result, he had decided to pack up his operation and move out of country.

He discovered a most willing and pliant environment for his fun and crimes in Southern California. He started out small, taking only Vladimir Ochoa, his most trusted lieutenant, with him when he moved to Pasadena. Novikov's operations grew quickly, however, with a number of displaced Armenians and Russians in the San Gabriel Valley looking for a taste of home.

Novikov grew careless and reckless, however, and it fell to Ochoa to keep his boss's image from being too tarnished. Ochoa had the distinct advantage of looking like and being able to speak like the large Latino community in the greater Los Angeles area, but he always felt a certain sense of unease when he was around them – after all, as far as he was concerned, he was a Russian.

However, when Novikov t-boned a minivan with his Bentley while drunk and a ten year old girl died, it almost sparked a war between the Latinos and the Eastern Europeans, with Mara Salvatrucha and the Russian Mafia just about ready to rip each others' throats out.

Ochoa had – barely – been the baking soda on the greasy flame. He sat down with the leaders of the Mob and MS-13, and convinced them that it was not in their best interests to start randomly killing one another, that violence would beget more violence, that it was not worth it to watch Glendale, Burbank, Pasadena, and East L.A. go down in flames.

After that, Ochoa had gone twelve rounds with Novikov, and in the end, Novikov had agreed to stay the hell away from the Latino community. After that, he pretty much stuck to just killing Eastern Europeans.

In October of 2005, word came through to Ochoa that Pyotr Ivanov had been killed – more precisely, executed – while working with the al-Sadr insurgency in Iraq. The news had hit Ochoa like a punch to the gut, but it wasn't as though it was unexpected. Ivanov had been taking a severe risk and most certainly violating the Geneva Conventions on Warfare.

Novikov, however, had blown a gasket. He'd gotten completely drunk, roared off in his Hummer, and came home in a taxi six hours later. The Hummer was found upside down in the L.A. River. He had apparently shot up twelve cars, and tried to set the National Guard Armory in Manhattan Beach on fire. Fortunately, his Molotov cocktail had fizzled.

After that, he became even worse than he was before. The apex of his craziness came in October of 2007, when he tossed a scam-artist mail-order bride out a fifteenth story window for no good reason. He'd almost gotten nailed by the Los Angeles Police Department, but he got away scot-free, and that's when Ochoa found out a terrible secret about his boss.

It seemed that Novikov had been working for the Central Intelligence Agency for nearly five years, feeding them all sorts of information about Russia. Ochoa was crushed – he couldn't understand how his boss, his mentor, could betray the Motherland in such a fashion.

Novikov had looked at him like a small child when Ochoa had asked what he was thinking. He laughed and said he was loyal to himself, and no other. The _Rodina_ was dead, as far as he was concerned.

Ochoa didn't like it, but he had nowhere else to go. He was, in fact, not in the country legally, and he'd seen what happened to people who looked like him who were in the United States illegally.

It wasn't pleasant.

So, he shut up, tried to forget about what he'd heard, and kept working for Novikov. Over the next year and a half, he worked diligently to try to find the person responsible for the death of his KGB mentor and Novikov's friend.

And in October of 2008, he found her. Sergeant Rebecca Matheson, US Army. She had been the one who held the gun to Ivanov's head and pulled the trigger. Ochoa told Novikov about this. His boss was quite pleased, and told Ochoa to follow Sergeant Matheson.

On the evening of Halloween, Ochoa tracked Matheson to an apartment complex in Echo Park. Novikov was with him that evening, and decided it was time for a little payback. He had personally disabled and taken Matheson.

As they were fleeing, a man who Ochoa had identified as Charles Bartowski, Matheson's boyfriend, had pursued them in an old Dodge. Ochoa had himself disabled the vehicle, putting a shotgun blast into its right front quadrant.

After that, Novikov had injected Matheson with a huge amount of a blood thinner, and then tortured and beat her for several hours. When he had had his fun, he called Bartowski and told him that he could have his girlfriend back.

Ochoa got word later that Matheson had died. He was slightly disturbed, but couldn't bring himself to feel any pity for her.

And so, on January 18th, he was walking through the Toy District in downtown Los Angeles. It was twilight, and he was headed back to his car, to head back home.

He never saw his assailant following him.

One moment, he was walking down Wall Street, the next moment, he was flat on his back in an alcove. A figure dressed from head to toe in black stared down at him. The only part of the assailant's body that he could see were a pair of ice blue eyes, staring out at him through holes cut in a ski mask.

"_Dios mio,_" Ochoa whispered. "What the hell do you want?"

The voice was nothing more than a whisper, but oh what an evil whisper it was. "I want you to die."

And with that, the assailant's hand slammed down onto Ochoa's chest. He felt something puncture his skin, but it didn't seem that bad – maybe a half inch pin, at most.

Then the assailant disappeared. Ochoa lifted his head, and looked down – to see the most incongruous sight. There was, in fact, a pin sticking out of his chest, but it was a novelty pin – a Precious Moments angel. He almost laughed. As if that could kill –

He suddenly found himself utterly unable to breathe. His head flopped back to the sidewalk with a sickening crack. Every nerve in his body was on fire – his eyes felt like they were bulging – oh God – oh God –

* * *

Charlie Crews looked at the toxicology report in his hand and laughed in disbelief.

_RICIN?_

What the hell was this, Moscow in the Cold War? The Waterloo Bridge, 1978?

Crews could not, for the life of him, even begin to think of the possibilities of what had happened. An assailant had coated the pin of a Precious Moments angel, of all things, with a highly concentrated ricin formula, and stabbed Vladimir Ochoa with it. The ricin had incapacitated him almost immediately, and he had died right there in the Toy District.

Charlie wasn't exactly sad that Ochoa was gone – after all, Roman Novikov's right hand man wasn't exactly a saint. But still, this was an international espionage sort of murder, and that made it very, very interesting.

"What do you think, Reese?" he asked his partner.

The attractive younger Persian woman looked up. "I think this is quite possibly the most insane thing I've seen since I've been in the LAPD," Dani Reese replied. "And I've seen some pretty weird shit."

Charlie shook his head. "Yeah, I'm thinking we need to bring in an expert," he said. He lifted his phone and dialed an extension. "Walker," he said a moment later. "You in the building?"

He listened for a moment. "Alright, we've got a bizarre murder, and it involves your, uh, past areas of expertise," he explained. "Can you come up to Homicide?"

Ten minutes later, Sarah Walker entered the meeting room in the Homicide Division. Charlie, Dani, and Lieutenant Davis were waiting there for her. "Thank you for joining us, Officer Walker," Davis said. "We have a murder case that we thought you might be able to give us a… uh, unique perspective on."

Sarah cocked her head. "Okay," she said. "What do you have?"

"Vladimir Ochoa," Charlie said. "Cuban-born Russian citizen, right hand man of Roman Novikov. Something of a bastard. Found dead this morning on Wall Street."

"Can't say I'm exactly displeased that he's gone," Sarah remarked dryly. "What was the cause of death?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Crews replied. "Ricin poisoning."

Sarah's eyebrows threatened to go into orbit. "_Ricin_?!" she asked in shock. "As in, Georgi Markov in London?"

Charlie nodded, a smile on his face. "Bingo," he replied. "Thing is, we don't have a clue where to start."

Sarah shrugged. "Well, from the perspective of the CIA, I'd say it's pretty obvious. He pissed off somebody who had connections to the former KGB."

Lieutenant Davis tilted her head. "Unfortunately, Officer Walker, you just described five percent of the population of Los Angeles."

"Sorry," Sarah replied. "But you have to understand, ricin was widely used as an assassination tool by the KGB during the Cold War. God only knows how much of it is floating around out there."

* * *

Chuck Bartowski had taken to reading the newspaper as of late. He wasn't quite sure why – he just had. His paper of choice was, of course, the L.A. Times.

_Russian gang lieutenant found dead_, proclaimed a below-the-fold story on the front page. Intrigued, Chuck began to read.

He quickly learned that Vladimir Ochoa had been found dead in the Toy District. "Good riddance, you bastard," Chuck spat viciously upon reading of the man's connection to Roman Novikov.

The article indicated that the Coroner's Office had not yet released the cause of death. However, there was one item mentioned in the article that just seemed downright strange to Chuck. Apparently, Ochoa had been found with a Precious Moments angel pin stuck in his chest.

There was a blurry picture of the pin with the article, and when Chuck saw it, the Intersect – well – he felt like it was going to flash, but then it just sort of faded. It was strange, almost as if it couldn't quite make the connection.

"What the hell?" he muttered. Maybe it was the blurriness of the picture.

He stood up and crossed to his computer. Pulling up Google, he ran an image search on Precious Moments angels. He discarded them one by one, searching for the one that matched the picture in the article.

Then he came across it –

And the Precious Moments angel exploded in his mind's eye –

A picture of somebody being tortured –

A picture of a corpse in fatigues –

A map of Colombia and Venezuela with pinpoints across it –

A document identifying an operation to be carried out by an agent known as the "Angel of Death" –

A tray of baklava –

And that was it. Chuck snapped from the flash. The Intersect had not told him who the Angel of Death was, but whoever this individual was, they were either responsible for Ochoa's death, or somebody was playing copycat.

Chuck did not like the chills he got down his spine.

* * *

The woman walked into the Family Christian Bookstore on Pioneer Boulevard, in Whittier. Although she was here for one thing, and one thing only, she would buy several items, to avoid suspicion.

She reached the checkout counter, and placed her basket in reach of the cashier. A Switchfoot CD, an NRSV Bible, a woman's devotional were joined in the bag by half a dozen Precious Moments angel pins.

"I take it you know a few angels?" the cashier asked with a smile.

The woman smiled back. "The kids in my Sunday School class," she replied, handing the cashier her credit card.

"May I see your ID, please?"

The woman handed the cashier her driver's license. Issued in the state of Arizona. Set to expire in 2047.

The cashier handed the driver's license back, and called the woman a name she hadn't been called in years. "Thank you, Ms. Fordham."

The woman's cobalt blue eyes flickered with the memories. Kelly Fordham was long gone. Her name was a distant memory, long since replaced with another.

And so it was Sarah Walker who exited the Family Christian Bookstore with the bag full of Precious Moments angels.


	14. Phoenix Revelations

Charlie Crews was frustrated, disgusted, annoyed. He was quite certain that he had a serial killer on his hands – albeit a serial killer who seemed to have been embraced by the people of Los Angeles. Since this so-called "Angel of Death", as the media had taken to calling him, had begun to strike out, the Russian Mob had virtually crumbled. Crime in the Burbank-Pasadena-Glendale area had been cut practically in half.

Charlie had to admit it did give him a bit of savage satisfaction, to see Roman Novikov scared and running the way he was. God knew the bastard deserved it.

The problem, however, was that whoever this guy was, he was a vigilante. He was operating WELL outside the boundaries of the law, and he was committing hideous crimes left and right.

Vladimir Ochoa: dead of ricin poisoning. Marko Dombrovian: choked to death with a guitar D-string. Actually, the strangulation had crushed his larynx, and THEN he had choked to death. Dominikas Palcikas: shotgun blast to the heart at point blank range. In fact, there hadn't been any of his heart LEFT.

Viktor Pavlov: sniper rifle shot while feeding the ducks in MacArthur Park. Iosef Golovko: his Mustang blew up, without warning, as he drove it down the 101 one morning. Sergei Malikov: throat slit as he sat in Grauman's Chinese Theatre last night, attending the premiere of Tom Cruise's _Valkyrie_.

Six different men, but all members of Roman Novikov's crime organization. In fact, with them gone, he was the only real big shot remaining. Six different M.O.s as well, but there was one thing that tied them all together. A Precious Moments angel pin, stuck to the corpse's torso, at each crime scene. Whoever was doing this WANTED the powers that be to know that it was all the same person.

And it fell to Charlie to figure out who the sick fucker was. Fortunately, he didn't have anything else on his plate right at the moment.

Or so he thought.

Dani Reese walked up to his desk and rapped on it with her knuckles. "Hey, spacehead," she said, snapping him out of his concentration. He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "Lieutenant's been trying to get your attention from her office for the past minute."

"Oh," Charlie said. He looked over at Lieutenant Davis. She pointed at him and Reese, then crooked a finger. Charlie stood from his chair, stretched, and headed across the floor toward Davis' office, Reese hot on his heels.

Davis indicated that the two detectives should sit. Standing behind her desk, she said, "Well, the two of you aren't gonna like this."

Charlie looked over at Dani. "I always love briefings that start that way."

Dani rolled her eyes as Davis continued. "The feds have asked – well, really, ordered us to put a protective detail on Novikov."

Charlie laughed. "And please tell me that you told them to go suck Dmitry Medvedev's white Russian –"

"CREWS," Davis snapped. "There is a time and a place. This is neither." She stopped and sighed. "But it's worse. The Novikov operation has been signed off on for continuation by President Obama. It's going to last for god-knows-how-long, and the feds are most insistent that he be protected."

Dani shook her head. "Are they not aware that he's a psychopathic murderer?"

Davis shrugged. "Oh, they're aware. That's why they want homicide cops watching him."

Charlie's head jerked up at the words "homicide cops". "Oh, no, no, NO!" he shouted, jumping up from his chair. "Hell, no!"

"Actually, the word you're looking for is 'yes'," Davis deadpanned. "You two get to start babysitting Novikov, effective immediately. You'll have a team of six officers – whoever you want from homicide – plus a DEA agent to liaise with the feds."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Can I pull in an officer from outside of homicide?"

Davis raised an eyebrow. "Walker?"

Charlie nodded. "I think she'd be very helpful."

Davis shrugged. "Guess it couldn't hurt."

"Well, that's a small victory at least," Charlie muttered, reaching across Davis' desk to pick up the phone.

* * *

Unfortunately for Charlie, just at that moment, Sarah Walker was some two hundred miles away from the phone on her desk. Her Porsche was eastbound on I-10, rocketing across the Mohave Desert.

"Okay," Chuck Bartowski said. "So, since we just crossed the Arizona state line, you want to tell me where we're going?"

Sarah smiled. "Phoenix."

"Ah, Phoenix," Chuck echoed. "Destination hotspot the world over for Valentine's Day weekend."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at the sarcastic tone of Chuck's voice. She certainly had to admit he was right – Phoenix wasn't exactly a great place to get away from Los Angeles. However, she had her reasons.

The reality of the situation was that Sarah and Ellie had decided that it would be a very bad idea for Chuck to be in L.A. on Valentine's Day. They thought that there were too many memories of Becky there, and if he were left to his own devices on Valentine's Day, he would probably end up drunk and sobbing on a sidewalk in West Hollywood.

So they decided to get him out of town for the weekend. Sarah had suggested to Chuck that they take a trip – just as friends, of course – but he had to trust her and let her plan it. Intrigued, he had agreed to the idea.

Every so often, she had been giving him a little bit more information about what they were doing, like just then, when she had told him that they were going to Phoenix. But she wasn't quite ready to tell him why they were going to Phoenix.

Sarah just laughed in response to Chuck's remark, and kept her eyes on the road ahead. Chuck was almost back to his old self – the way he was before Becky died. She had to admit, he had recovered fairly quickly – it had only been three and a half months – but he DID have a lot of support from his friends and family. On top of that, she was quite certain that working on the Beast – _Becky!_, she reminded herself – had probably been very cathartic for him.

Her thought process was quite rudely interrupted when she felt his warm, larger hand envelop her own on top of the gear shift. Startled, she looked over at him, to find him looking at her, an intense look in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for sticking with me these last few months. Thank you for always being there and not disappearing. Thank you for getting me out of Los Angeles this weekend."

She couldn't help but smile again at the fact that he'd figured out what was going on. "You're welcome," she said quietly.

When he didn't move his hand from on top of hers, her smile got a little bit bigger. The accelerator went a little closer to the floor – that much less time until they got to their destination.

* * *

"_Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Officer Sarah Walker, Los Angeles Police Department Crime Prevention Division. I will be away from Parker Center from Friday, February 13__th__, until Monday, February 16__th__. To be connected to the switchboard, please press zero. If this is an emergency, please hang up now and call 911. Otherwise, leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can._"

"Goddammit," Charlie grumbled, replacing his phone in its cradle. "I don't think we're going to be able to get Walker on this project."

The woman sitting across from him smiled. "She can be frustrating like that sometimes."

Charlie cocked his head. "And exactly what would you know of Officer Sarah Walker?"

She didn't answer the question. "Still using that alias, is she?"

Charlie frowned. "What do you mean, alias?"

A laugh came in reply. "Sarah Walker's not her REAL name! She was in the CIA! She was a deep-cover operative, for God's sake!"

Charlie rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling. "So what WAS her real name?"

The woman shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "She never told me."

Charlie looked back at the woman. "You don't know her name." A shake of the head confirmed that. "Then don't tell me you know Sarah Walker any better than I do."

DEA Agent Carina Hansen laughed and leaned across the table. "Detective Crews, I taught Sarah Walker everything she KNOWS."

* * *

Sarah was starting to feel nervous. The closer she got to Mesa, the more the old memories resurrected themselves. It was almost as if she was stepping into another dimension.

The real nerves started to sink in, though, when she got off US 60 at Mesa Drive. That's when she knew she was almost home.

Two miles north took her to Main Street. "Good Lord," Chuck breathed, seeing the hulking mass of Mesa's Mormon Temple out his window.

"It's not exactly the one in Salt Lake, but it's been there since 1919," Sarah told him. "In fact, Mesa has more members of the LDS church per square mile than anywhere else in the world."

Chuck turned back to her, disbelief written on his face. "You're kidding. More than Utah?"

Sarah shrugged. "Not total, but there's nowhere else in the world that has a higher density than the east Phoenix area." She smiled. "Trust me. My aunt and uncle are REALLY strict Mormons, and they dragged me to their stake –" she pointed out her window, to the north "- every Sunday."

"Never to the temple?" Chuck asked.

Sarah laughed. "Chuck, I can't go inside. I am most definitely not a Mormon. If I had been, I would've been excommunicated before my sixteenth birthday."

Chuck nodded. "So let's see. You were a bad girl, sent to Phoenix to live with your Mormon aunt and uncle. How the hell did you end up in the CIA?!"

Sarah smiled at him as she pulled the Porsche to a stop in front of a rather large house on Edgemont Drive. "All in due time, Chuck."

She opened the door and stepped out. Chuck moved to follow her – and almost ran into her as he came around the front end of the car.

He looked at her curiously. She seemed to be frozen in place, just staring at the house from the sidewalk. "Uh… are you just going to look at it?" Chuck asked.

Sarah closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, reached down, and grabbed Chuck's hand. "Okay," she said quietly. "Here we go."

Chuck followed Sarah up the path to the front door. She took another deep breath, blew it out, and then lifted her finger to press the doorbell. They stood there for a moment, and then the door swung open.

Sarah smiled slightly. "Hi, Uncle Ted," she said quietly.

A balding man who looked to be about sixty looked out at her. "Kelly? Is that YOU?!"

Sarah nodded. "My God," the man breathed. He swung the screen door open, and just stood there looking at her. "Where have you been for the last eight years?!"

Sarah sighed and looked down at the porch. "Uncle Ted, I'm sorry –"

"No apologies," her uncle interrupted her. He stepped in front of her, and wrapped her in his arms. Chuck let go of her hand as she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his back.

"I'm sorry," Chuck heard her say, a sob breaking her already muffled voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Come on," her uncle said gruffly. "There'll be none of that. Your aunt will be wanting to see you."

Sarah pulled away from him, her eyes wide. She tentatively stepped inside the house, and then, clearly knowing where she was going, headed toward another room.

Uncle Ted turned toward Chuck. "Typical Kelly," he grumbled. "Too rude to introduce her… boyfriend?"

Chuck sort of nodded. "We're more of just friends," he said, holding out his hand. "Chuck Bartowski."

"Ted Tyrell," Uncle Ted replied, taking Chuck's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Chuck. What do you do?"

"Computers," Chuck answered as he stepped inside.

Ted Tyrell's face broke into a smile. "Brilliant," he said. "It just so happens that mine is having issues. Mind taking a look."

Chuck smiled back. "Not at all."

* * *

It was Saturday morning. Valentine's Day.

Dani Reese didn't have plans for the day. Or a boyfriend. So why the hell was her phone ringing at 7:00 A.M.?

And better question, why the hell was the caller ID showing Charlie's number?

She groaned and pressed the call button. "What the hell do you want?" she grumbled into her phone.

"_Uh, Reese, I need your help._"

"Really."

"_Yeah, I'm kind of in an… uh, awkward situation._"

"Crews, define awkward."

"_Uh… I'm tied to my bed._"

The beginnings of a smile began to form on Dani's lips. "Oh, THIS I've got to see," she replied. "How'd it happen, Charlie?"

"_I'll just say this, Reese – don't ever trust a DEA agent._"

* * *

Chuck woke up slowly. The soft sound of rain falling on the roof greeted him.

_Rain in Phoenix_, he thought. _Seems weird_.

Then there was another sound. The sound of somebody softly sighing in her sleep.

Chuck opened his eyes and looked downward.

The last time he'd seen this sight, his reaction had been _Oh, shit_. That was nearly six months before.

Now, though, it just made him smile.

Chuck could get used to waking up to the sight of Kelly Lisa Fordham, a.k.a. Sarah Walker, every morning.

He figured Becky would approve.


	15. Unexpected Discovery

Chuck stealthily slid out of his bed. Since their return from Phoenix four days before, there hadn't been a night that he and Sarah hadn't spent together.

They had discovered – unsurprisingly – that their relationship was far less complicated with her being in the LAPD rather than the CIA. Even though she still worried about Chuck's safety – and would as long as he had the Intersect stuck in his head – she didn't have to worry about it being her first priority. Likewise, Chuck didn't have to worry about compromising Sarah's mission.

They were both quite happy.

And now, Chuck was going to attempt to make breakfast for Sarah without waking her up. He had failed to do so yet – she always seemed to realize that he was gone from the bed within five minutes of his departing it. However, Thursday night had been somewhat more, well, _busy_ than usual, and he was hoping that she was worn out as a result.

However, disaster struck as he passed through the living room headed toward the kitchen. His arm brushed her purse, and it fell off its precarious perch on a shelf, crashing to the floor and spilling its contents. "Shit," Chuck hissed softly, diving to the floor, scrambling to push Sarah's life back into her purse.

He laughed softly as he deposited her Colt 1911 back in her purse. How many men could say that their girlfriend was licensed to carry concealed and had a gun in her purse?

One item, however, piqued his curiosity. A receipt from Family Christian Bookstore. "The hell?" Chuck muttered. What exactly would Sarah have been doing in a Christian bookst-

Chuck's train of thought went crashing off the tracks as he read the last item on the list.

_Six Precious Moments angel pins_.

"No," he breathed. "No, there's no way!"

Breakfast was forgotten. Chuck nearly tripped over himself going back to his bedroom. Sarah wasn't in the bed when he got there – he heard the shower running.

Ordinarily, that would've sent a thrill of excitement down his spine, but he was otherwise occupied just at that moment. Pulling his computer out of sleep mode, he went to the L.A. Times website. "Angel of Death", he typed into the search box.

Ten articles came back. He clicked through them one at a time, printing each out, and then took a closer look at them.

_Vladimir Ochoa found dead in Toy District_ – February 8th

_Marko Dombrovian strangled in Glendale home_ – February 9th

_Dominikas Palcikas killed in apparent gangland shooting_ – February 10th

_Viktor Pavlov_ _gunned down in MacArthur Park_ – February 11th

_Iosef Golovko blown up in car on 101_ – February 12th

_Sergei Malikov found murdered at Grauman's_ – February 13th

_Martin Nemeyev stabbed to death_ – February 16th

_Felix Gerasimov dies of unexplained heart attack_ – February 17th

_Ivan McFeeley found on Red Line tracks_ – February 18th

_Tom Maraklov victim of hit and run_ – February 19th

"No way," Chuck breathed. Six major players and four minor players within the Russian mob. All tagged by the Angel of Death. The only times that there weren't any apparent deaths were last night, and last weekend.

Chuck closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. Every night this week aside from last night, he had fallen asleep pretty early. Last night, he hadn't felt tired at all.

So, that's what it came down to. Last weekend, Sarah was in Phoenix on Friday and Saturday nights. Nobody died either of those nights. Last night, she was quite occupied. Nobody died that night.

But each of the other ten nights, somebody died. Somebody was killed by the so-called "Angel of Death".

Sarah had a receipt in her purse for half a dozen Precious Moments angel pins. There was a file in the Intersect on the "Angel of Death" project.

There was no way that this was all coincidence. And for once, Chuck wasn't just going to sit back and be quiet.

Picking up the articles, he marched to the bathroom. The door was locked, but it was just a dummy lock. Sliding the edge of his Ralph's card into the lock, he twisted it open, and then flung the door open.

The noise startled Sarah, who looked out of the shower, alarm on her face, the curtain wrapped around her body. Her face relaxed when she saw that it was just Chuck, but she tensed again when she saw the unmistakable anger on his face.

He slammed the door shut behind him and thrust the handful of articles in her face. "Explain," he demanded.

Sarah's face went white, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Jesus Christ," Chuck laughed. "Not even an attempt at denial. You went directly into figuring out how to justify it."

Sarah's eyes popped back open, and her jaw dropped. "They were bad people, Chuck!"

"And your name is not Yahweh," Chuck shot back. "Who the hell told you that you got to play God?!"

Sarah's eyes narrowed. She turned the water off, and swept the shower curtain back, advancing on Chuck. She could tell just how pissed he was – he wasn't even fazed by her naked body being so close to his.

"If I had been overseas, this would've been an ASSIGNMENT," she growled. "Do you know how many people I've killed?!"

"But you're NOT overseas!" Chuck spat. "You're in Los Angeles. You're NOT in the CIA anymore, you're in the LAPD! Have you forgotten that your department's motto is 'To protect and to serve'?!"

"Don't you EVEN," Sarah snapped, lifting a finger into Chuck's face. "These people were dangerous and they needed to be eliminated."

"That's why you arrest them, put them in jail –"

"Watch them go before a corrupt justice system that can be easily swayed, ESPECIALLY in this city?!" Sarah shot back. "Are you forgetting that their boss is protected by the director of the CIA?"

"What the hell is this all about, Sarah?" Chuck asked. "Is this some sort of personal vendetta? Is this your way of getting back at Graham?!"

"No, you jackass!" Sarah shouted. "This is my way of getting back at Novikov! I did this for you!"

Chuck's eyes widened, and he took a step backwards. That particular admission was the last thing he'd been expecting. "What do you mean, you did it for me?" he asked in a soft, stunned voice.

Sarah's head drooped, and she looked up at Chuck from hooded eyes. "I knew there was never going to be any way that Novikov would be brought to justice for Becky," she said quietly. "I know you loved Becky, and…"

Sarah sighed. "And I love you. I never stopped loving you. And with that whole thing with Graham and Novikov, I felt kind of responsible for what happened to Becky."

Chuck brought his hands to his face. He looked at Sarah from just above his fingertips for a moment. Finally, he responded.

"You're insane, you know that?"

"Chuck…"

"No, really," Chuck said quietly. "There's not too many women who would take down an entire crime organization to exact revenge for the death of their boyfriend's former girlfriend."

She couldn't see Chuck's mouth, but she could see the corners of his eyes starting to crinkle up like they always did when he smiled, and she started to relax a little. "The thing is," he continued, "if I could figure it out, what makes you think the LAPD isn't going to figure it out?"

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "I figure that as long as I'm on the inside, I can misdirect them, keep them away. That, and how many Intersects does the LAPD have?"

Chuck's brow furrowed, his hands falling away from his face. "What does the Intersect have to do with it?"

Sarah cocked her head to one side. "Would it be safe to assume that you saw a file on a mission that involved an agent code-named 'Angel of Death'?"

Chuck nodded. "I did – that was YOU?!"

Sarah smiled. "It was," she replied. Then she laughed. "What, you think I came up with that Precious Moments thing on my own? How sick do you think I am?!"

"So where did you get THAT from?" Chuck asked, a little confused.

"Well, ironically enough, Bryce came up with it," Sarah replied. "It was psychological more than anything else – taking out a string of Venezuelan and Colombian rebels. If we made sure that they thought it was all done by one person, it could have some really serious effects on morale."

"And so you revived it for, I'm assuming, the same reason," Chuck said.

Sarah nodded. "Exactly," she confirmed. "If they had all died randomly, I'm sure there would've been concern, but if Novikov thinks that it's one person, coming for him, then he's gonna be scared shitless."

Chuck nodded. "So… how many targets do you have left?"

"One."

"Novikov?"

Sarah nodded.

"You realize, he's got an eight person police detail on him now," Chuck told her.

"Yep, and their federal liaison is Carina Hansen," Sarah replied.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "No way!"

"Yeah, and there's no way I'm going to be able to take him out in secret," Sarah said.

Chuck looked at her curiously. "So… how are you…"

His eyes widened. "You're gonna take him out and then disappear, aren't you?!"

"I have to, Chuck. It's my personal mission. Maybe it's not official, but it's something I have to do."

"Then I'm coming with you."

Sarah couldn't believe she had just heard that come out of Chuck's mouth. "Chuck, when I say I have to disappear, I mean I'm going to have to leave everything behind, including all my money. I have to go to ground."

Chuck shrugged. "Who says you need your money? Who says I need your money?"

"Chuck…"

"Sarah, listen to me for just a moment," Chuck instructed her. Then, almost as if snapping back to reality, he said, "Actually, dry off first, and come to the bedroom. I don't know if I particularly want to talk to you about this in the bathroom."

Sarah almost laughed, but Chuck's face was still serious as he turned and departed the bathroom. She quickly dried off and pulled on her bathrobe, letting her hair dangle behind her, still damp.

Chuck was on his computer when she came into the bedroom. "Okay, so what did you want to tell me?" she asked.

He turned in his chair to face her. "Back on November 1st, 1985, my parents decided to invest me and Ellie's college fund, saying that it would have more impact. They had saved about fifty thousand dollars at that point, and they decided to invest in a company that had just recently gone public and kind of did a nose dive.

"My dad had a pretty good nose for the market, and he said he was quite certain that the company would come back before long. He was right. In so many ways."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "What company was it?"

Chuck grinned. He picked up an object from his desk and tossed it to Sarah. She caught it, looked at it –

Chuck's iPhone.

"You're kidding," she breathed, her eyes widening.

Chuck nodded, his smile getting even bigger. "Fifty thousand dollars worth of Apple stock in November of '85 is worth almost five million today," he explained. "And half of that is mine. Here, take a look."

Sarah bent to look at his computer monitor. Sure enough, Chuck's portfolio was showing a current worth of two million, four hundred ninety-three thousand, seven hundred eighty-one dollars. "Holy shit," she breathed. Then she saw the prompt in the corner of the screen.

**You have entered a request to liquidate your portfolio**, it said. **The balance of your portfolio minus brokerage fees will be transferred to your designated account.** **Press "Confirm" to continue**.

"Chuck," she whispered. "Are you sure?"

Chuck turned to face her. "It will help you. It will help avenge Becky. And it will keep us together."

"No, Chuck, that's not what I meant," Sarah said. "You have to understand. If we do this, you have to leave everything behind. Ellie, Morgan, everything."

Chuck nodded. "I know," he replied. "But going of my own accord… that's better than going into a bunker somewhere, isn't it?"

Sarah sighed. "I want you to be absolutely sure this is what you want to do, Chuck."

"It absolutely is what I want to do," he responded, and before she could stop him, he turned and moused over the "Confirm" button. He clicked, and a moment later, the graphic representation of his portfolio emptied. **Portfolio liquidated**, the screen said.

Chuck turned to face Sarah. "We've got the funds," he said. "It's time to get to work."


	16. The End of the Line

John Casey was the lord and master of his domain. All the Buy More was his for the ruling, as far as he was concerned.

Big Mike was happy to let him have it, too. Since Harry Tang's departure a year and a half before, Casey had been far and away the best salesman that the Buy More had. Sure, perhaps he was a little more aggressive at times than corporate would've liked, but that was okay with Big Mike.

Right at the moment, Casey was in the process of moving yet another BeastMaster. According to sales records, of the twenty-six of them sold in 2008, Casey had sold twenty-four. There was nobody as proficient at selling the gigantic outdoor kitchen ensembles as John Casey.

He had the customer hooked, too. It was time to go up front and complete the sale.

However, the instant Casey stepped foot into the main aisle, disaster struck. He heard an electric whine and somebody yell, "LOOK OUT!" And then, before the NSA agent even realized what was happening, an electric wheelchair going WAY too fast clipped him and sent him careening into a rack of DVDs.

Casey crashed off the rack and slumped to the ground, an avalanche of DVDs pouring over him. He lay on the ground for a moment, stunned, and then began to stir. He sat up, and put a hand to his now aching forehead. It came away with blood on it.

"Casey!" he heard Morgan Grimes shout. "Jesus, Casey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Casey grunted. "I think I'm bleeding."

"You've got a pretty vicious cut on your forehead there," Morgan said with concern, reaching down a hand to help Casey up. Casey accepted the hand, but as he stood, his right knee twinged, causing Casey to wince in pain.

"Dammit," he grunted. He had torn his ACL nearly twenty years before, but it still hurt from time to time. Like when he was clipped by psychotic wheelchair drivers.

Speaking of which…

"HEY!" he shouted, limping toward the wheelchair. "What the hell is your problem?!"

The wheelchair spun around, revealing a pissed off looking individual. "Who the fuck you talkin' to, bitch?!"

"I'm talking to you, asshole!" Casey roared. "Did you not notice just now when you ran me over?"

The guy in the wheelchair shrugged. "You shouldn'ta stepped out in front of me, dumbass!"

Casey narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be driving through a retail electronics store like it's the Grand Prix!"

Wheelchair Guy rolled his eyes. "Quit bein' a little bitch, ya faggot."

Casey's blood started to boil. He'd had quite enough of this jackass.

Before anybody could react, Casey had reached down to his left ankle, and drawn a Beretta 9mm handgun that he always kept concealed there. Wheelchair Guy's eyes widened as the gun came up level with his forehead.

"CASEY!" boomed Big Mike across the store. Casey's glare transferred from the now shaking guy in the wheelchair to his titular boss. "Put that hand cannon away!"

Casey slowly and reluctantly lowered the gun. "Do the speed limit, jackass," he growled at the guy in the wheelchair. "And for the record, the homosexual community considers it impolite to use the term 'faggot' in a derogatory manner. Bitch."

Big Mike's hand wrapped around Casey's left bicep and bodily dragged him away from the scene. There weren't too many men who had the size and strength to do that to John Casey, but Mike Tucker was definitely one of them.

"What the hell happened to you, John?" Big Mike asked, taking stock of Casey's appearance.

"I got run down by the dirtbag in the wheelchair," Casey growled. "I was in the middle of moving a BeastMaster – and speaking of which, it looks like my customers are GONE, goddammit – and he drove me into a rack of DVDs. Grimes tells me I've got a cut on my forehead, and my knee is killing me."

Big Mike nodded. "I can see the forehead thing," he replied. "Tell you what, Casey. I'll forget about the gun. Go home, take the rest of the day off."

Casey nodded, and without a backward glance, headed toward the front door of the Buy More. Fifteen minutes later, he was walking up to his apartment –

Where he found an envelope taped to the front door. _Major John Casey_, it said on the front, it Chuck Bartowski's distinctive block print.

This was not good. Casey had a very bad feeling about this.

He ripped the envelope off the door and unlocked his apartment, entering. He sat down next to his portrait of Ronald Reagan, and opened the envelope.

_Casey,_ it began. _With luck, by the time you read this letter, we'll be long gone._

OH FUCK.

_You see, I figure you won't get this till you get home from your shift around 5:00._

Casey looked at the clock. 2:00 P.M. Still plenty of time to catch them.

_Here's the deal, Casey. The Angel of Death? It's Sarah. She's been taking down Novikov's gang as a measure of vengeance for Becky's death._

Well. Casey certainly couldn't say that Walker was doing something bad.

_The thing is, though, there's only one target left – Novikov himself. There's no way that she's going to be able to take him out without the LAPD finding out, so she's going to do it publicly, make sure EVERYBODY knows that he got taken down. After that, we're going to have to disappear._

_Casey, please don't try to find us. We've got more than enough money to completely drop off the face of the planet. You know we're doing the right thing, and you know that I'll be a whole lot safer living incognito with Sarah by my side 24/7._

Casey couldn't deny that. If nobody knew who or where Chuck was, Fulcrum couldn't get to him. If he had Sarah with him all the time, he'd have a constant CIA-trained bodyguard.

_I promise you, I'll figure out a way to communicate with you, so that if I do flash on something, I can get the information to the NSA._

_Casey, I know the last year and a half has been difficult for you. Thank you for having patience with me. I owe you a great deal for everything you've done._

_Chuck Bartowski_

Casey scratched his head. Chuck and Sarah could disappear. It would make things easier for everybody.

But they stood so little chance of taking down Novikov and actually getting away…

Casey made a snap decision. Picking up the phone, he dialed. He waited a moment, and then:

"Carina? John Casey. I need to speak with you about something."

* * *

Roman Novikov was having a late lunch with a business associate. Surprisingly enough to Charlie Crews, the man was a _legitimate_ business associate.

They sat in McCormick & Schmick's at the Library Tower, Novikov having lunch with his associate, his protection detail sitting several tables away. Four LAPD officers, plus Carina Hansen, were on duty at all times.

Charlie was wary around Hansen. He had been ever since the night they met, when she managed to seduce him, get him back to his place, have her way with him, and then tie him to the bed. She told him later that it was how she initiated all her new partners.

He couldn't say that he hadn't enjoyed it – with the exception of the tying-up bit. She was a striking woman, and he loved redheads. She also DEFINITELY knew what she was doing.

Now, though, he was intrigued and a little worried as she stood. Why would she be standing to speak to somebody at the restaurant?

Charlie vaguely recognized the man who crossed to the group sitting at the table. "Detective Crews, Detective Reese, Officer Stark, Officer Clemons, this is Major John Casey of the National Security Agency," Carina said, introducing him to all of them.

_Of course_, Charlie thought. He was Sarah Walker's former partner. He was the man still responsible for the protection of Chuck Bartowski. So what was he doing here?

"I'm temporarily taking command of this task force," the NSA major said, answering Charlie's question. "You can ask why, but I'm not going to tell you. Just understand that I have federal authorization to do so."

Something about that rang false to Charlie, but he wasn't about to question the feds. Especially not this particular fed. He looked like he could eat Charlie for breakfast and still have room for Dani.

Charlie shrugged mentally. Might as well brief the guy.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski sat in the front seat of the Challenger, the radio tuned to 77.5 FM – far below commercial bands, but certainly within the grasp of a gigantic nerd such as him. The transmitter on 77.5 sat two blocks away, in McCormick & Schmick's.

He had not expected the phone call from John Casey. Casey had warned him not to mention the call to Sarah, because it might spook her. Chuck had understood, and after listening to Casey's reasoning, agreed to let Casey help them.

And so now, Casey had taken command of Roman Novikov's protection detail. Conveniently enough, he was wearing an American flag pin with a tiny audio bug in it. This enabled Chuck to listen in to every detail of the conversation, and would allow him to tell Sarah exactly when Novikov was about to leave.

Which was right now. "I hope you're ready, Sarah," Chuck mused, looking down Fifth Street toward the bottom of the hill.

* * *

Sarah Walker sat partially concealed, just inside the Fifth Street entrance to the Main Library. A tiny pair of binoculars allowed her to see in crystal-clear detail the entrance to the McCormick & Schmick's across the street.

The door opened – and Charlie Crews stepped out. Sarah stood – it was go time.

She watched as the rest of the detail came out. Stark came out, followed by Novikov himself, then Reese, then Clemons, then Carina –

THEN JOHN CASEY?!

"Oh, shit," she whispered. Reaching up to her ear, she hit the button on her Bluetooth earpiece. "Chuck," she said softly. A moment later, he picked up the phone.

"_Yeah?_"

"We may have to abort."

"_Sarah? Why? What's the problem?_"

"Casey's with them."

"_No, I know. We're good._"

"What do you mean, you know?!"

"_Sarah… just trust me, okay? Casey knows. He's with us._"

Sarah's jaw dropped. How could Casey have found out? She asked Chuck.

"_I'll explain later, okay? Just… let's get this done and get the hell out of here._"

"Chuck… I love you…"

"_I know. Good luck._"

And he hung up the phone. Sarah snorted. "I know?" Who the hell did he think he was, Han Solo?

Alright, the group was almost at the sidewalk, where the valet would pull Novikov's limousine to the curb. But he was never going to get in.

Stepping out of the doorway, Sarah reached behind her back and withdrew a Desert Eagle .44 handgun. It wasn't her preferred Colt, but the longer barrel gave it much better accuracy, and accuracy was what she was going for.

People screamed and scattered as the gun came up. And well they should have. Sarah probably looked frightening as hell – dressed completely in white, a white ballcap and mirrored aviator sunglasses helping to disguise her identity a bit. The gun in her hand was probably the most intimidating bit, though.

She aimed the gun as she walked, and as soon as she had a sure target, she squeezed the trigger. The gunshot filled the concrete canyon of downtown Los Angeles, and milliseconds later, Roman Novikov dropped to the sidewalk.

Immediately, the four LAPD officers and Carina dropped to the sidewalk, guns out and aimed at Sarah, but they didn't open fire.

Nor would they have, because almost as soon as Novikov dropped, the voice of John Casey boomed out, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

And Sarah couldn't help but smile. All the antagonism between her and Casey over the last seventeen months, but here he was, helping her complete this final mission.

"DO NOT FIRE!" Casey repeated.

She saw Carina, Charlie, and Dani Reese's eyes all widen in recognition as she approached. Then she saw a young man come running toward them with a portable video camera.

"YOU!" she shouted, pointing at the young man. He froze in his tracks. "I want you to record this!"

He nodded, shaking in fear. "That man, Roman Novikov, is dead," she informed the camera. "He is dead because he was a vicious, violent criminal. He has been the scourge of Los Angeles for years, but no longer. He will never again bother a resident of this city."

She continued walking toward the stunned LAPD protection detail, gathered around the corpse of the Russian gangster. "Let it be known to all – his type of crime will never again be tolerated in this city. Those who would foment the sort of trouble he did will be exterminated like the pestilence they are."

Sarah turned back to the camera and looked directly into it. "I am the Angel of Death, and I am watching."

And that's when another noise filled the concrete canyon. An odd mix of the roar of a Hemi engine and the distinct opening bass line from Aerosmith's "Sweet Emotion."

Sarah looked up Fifth Street, as did Casey, Carina, and the LAPD detail. Chuck's Dodge Challenger came roaring down the street, the sounds of both the engine and Aerosmith growing louder as he got closer.

He screeched to a halt between Sarah and the LAPD detail. As Sarah yanked open the shotgun door and climbed in, Chuck looked to his left, grinned, and flipped a jaunty salute toward Casey. Casey just shook his head and laughed.

As soon as Sarah's door was shut, Chuck hit the gas, and the Challenger took off, departing down Fifth Street rapidly. Charlie Crews took off running after the Challenger.

"Dispatch, this is Crews!" he shouted into his radio. "I need to put out an APB on a black 1970 Dodge Challenger, California license plate…"

He stopped running and speaking as he realized – the license plate wasn't there. It had been replaced by a piece of paper that looked like a California license plate – except that it said F-U-C-K-Y-O-U.

Charlie stopped in defeat as the Challenger pulled around the corner and disappeared. "Shit," he breathed.

* * *

Ellie Bartowski arrived home from work to find a half dozen LAPD officers waiting there, wanting to speak with her. No, she told them, she didn't know what her brother had been planning to do. No, she didn't know where he was going.

"Not that I would tell you if he did," she informed them. "This city is much safer for what Sarah Walker did."

After the police had finally left, she went online. She had a handful of new e-mails, but one stood out: it was from Carmichael Delivery Express.

_Dr. Bartowski,_ it said. _Your package has been delivered to its destination in Phoenix. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact one of our representatives by replying to this e-mail._

Ellie smiled. They were safe. It might be a while until she saw them again, but for now, Chuck and Sarah were safe.

* * *

Karen Davis refused to allow the members of her Homicide Division to be saddled with the responsibility of Novikov's death. She reminded the federal government that he was THEIR asset, and THEY should have taken charge of his care. The eight officers and detectives were released back to their duties with no reprimands.

Charlie Crews considered the Angel of Death case to be closed. No, he didn't have Sarah Walker in custody, but he did at least know who was responsible for the killings. He didn't really plan to expend much energy going after her.

Carina Hansen, on the other hand, received a severe reprimand from the federal government for allowing an asset to be lost. She protested that it was hardly her fault, but her superiors were quick to point out that it was her own former protégé who had outwitted her and gunned her asset down right in front of her.

Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker disappeared. Completely. Neither one of them was ever heard from again.

However, Charles Irving and his wife, Kelly, moved to Prescott, Arizona, one fine day in the summer of 2009. He set up shop as a computer technician, and his business became an instant hit – many, many former Californians with not a clue as to what their computers did lived in the Prescott Valley, and he was more than willing to part them and their money in exchange for making their computers work properly.

Kelly kept somewhat of a low profile, finding that she actually rather enjoyed being a librarian. It was a quiet, low stress job that was nonetheless mentally challenging. She was also quite a welcome change from the old, stodgy appearance of the Prescott Public Library.

However, every so often, Charles and Kelly Irving would go on vacation. They would drive to a vehicle storage center in Phoenix. A black Dodge Challenger named "Becky" would be taken out of storage.

Days later, word would reach the media that a number of very unpleasant criminals, almost always in Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, or Tucson, had come to the end of the line. The whispered rumors were always that the Angel of Death had struck once again.

And then, Charles and Kelly would return from vacation. They would look happy and refreshed, and nobody was ever the wiser.

* * *

_**Epilogue to follow**_


	17. Epilogue

Prescott, Arizona. John Casey had never been here before.

It was a nice enough little place – and the neighborhood he was driving through was certainly a pleasant one. The unfortunate thing was, it appeared that the valley outside of Prescott had been massively Californicated. Casey frowned. He didn't like that.

But right at the moment, he was driving down Mount Vernon Street, which was lined with turn of the 20th century Victorian-design houses. "Who would've ever figured on seeing a street like this in Arizona?" Casey snorted.

He came to the address he was looking for, and pulled his black Crown Vic over to the side of the road. Turning the car off, he stepped out and breathed in the air.

God, it was nice to breathe air that wasn't laden with pollution. Prescott sat over a mile above sea level, so it was a little bit cool at the end of September as well.

He looked at the two cars parked in the driveway as he headed toward the front door. A BMW 328 sedan and a Lexus ES 350. Both black, both nice cars, and both definitely unobtrusive and unremarkable, especially on this street.

Casey grunted his approval. It was good to see that the two of them were being smart.

He trudged up the front path and up the steps to the porch. Standing in front of the front door, he extended a hand and rang the doorbell. Cocking his head, he listened closely…

_Please, God, tell me that he didn't program his doorbell to play the Mario Brothers theme_, Casey thought in disbelief. But that was unquestionably what the faint notes he heard coming from inside were.

A moment later, the door opened, and there he was. He definitely looked different. His hair was cut short, was a little bit spiky, and was definitely lighter. He'd grown a goatee and a mustache – something Casey had once thought would be impossible, as baby-faced as he was – and was now wearing glasses.

But it was still unmistakably Chuck Bartowski.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Is that you, Casey?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "No, it's the fuckin' Easter Bunny," he shot back. "You gonna let me in?"

"Of course, of course!" Chuck replied, stepping back. Casey stepped into the 115 year old house and looked around as Chuck shut the door behind him. "I'm just shocked… I can't believe it took you two years to find us!"

Casey turned and fixed Chuck with a look of amusement. "Bartowski, I found the two of you six weeks after you closed on this house," he replied. "I just didn't feel like coming to find you."

"Why not?" Chuck asked. "I figured you'd be beating down our door once you knew where we were."

"I was upset," Casey shot back sarcastically. "You failed to invite me to the wedding."

"Casey, there were only eight people even at the wedding," came a remarkably familiar female voice. Casey looked up, and saw her descending the stairs. She looked different as well – a shoulder-length haircut, with a red tint in her hair, and unless he was mistaken, she was wearing green contacts as well. But it was still definitely Sarah Walker.

She smiled as she walked over to Casey. "Kelly Fordham Irving," she said, holding out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Casey rolled his eyes, and then did something that probably took Chuck and Sarah both completely unawares – he reached out and hugged Sarah. She was shocked for a moment, but then hugged Casey back.

"Sorry," he said, pulling back after a moment. "Weird as it is, it's good to see the two of you… almost as if a bit of normalcy's back in my life."

Chuck raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "WE were normal?" he asked incredulously. "What part of that year and a half was NORMAL?"

Casey shrugged. "None of it. But it was nice to have a routine."

Sarah – KELLY! – tilted her head to one side and looked at Casey. "You know, John, I'd like to think you're just stopping in for a social call," she said. "But… you wouldn't do that."

Casey nodded slowly. "Score one for Walker," he replied. "No, actually, the NSA has a very sensitive mission for which they need both the Intersect and the Angel of Death."

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other. "When, and where?" Chuck asked.

Casey smiled. "Houston. Next Sunday. Be in the restaurant at the Marriott Woodlands at 2:00 P.M. Your contact will meet you there to give you further information."

Chuck nodded. "We'll be there."

"Good," Casey replied. "Now, before I go, there's one other thing you need to see." He reached into his jacket, and brought out a letter, which he handed to Chuck.

Chuck looked at Casey curiously, and then unfolded the letter. "Dear Mr. Casey," he read aloud. "It is my understanding that you know how to get in touch with the woman known as the Angel of Death. I find her to be a highly compelling individual who would make an excellent character in the graphic novel field of fiction."

Chuck began to smile as he read. "If she would be willing to have a comic book character based on her, we would certainly be prepared to compensate her generously. I would ask that you get in contact with her and reply to me with her answer.

"Thank you for your time. Stan Lee, Marvel Comics."

Chuck's eyes had gone very wide. "Holy shit," he whispered. He turned to Sarah, a huge grin on his face. "Babe… the god of comics wants to do a comic based on you."

Sarah made a face. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Casey laughed. "Oh, come on, Walker. Nobody's ever gonna know it's you, and if anything, it will improve your reputation. Right now, you're just a vigilante. You let Stan Lee turn you into a comic book hero – you become Batman."

"Wrong company, Casey."

"Shut up, Bartowski. You get my point."

Sarah looked at the floor. "I don't know, Casey…"

"Well, take your time deciding, then," the NSA agent replied. "You know how to get in touch with me."

Chuck nodded. "And we will."

Casey smiled. "I need to go, then. Till Texas?"

Sarah looked back up and smiled. "We'll be there."


End file.
